Rivalry
by Black.Rose.Authoress
Summary: The Bad Touch Trio decides that America and England need some romantic intervention. Who better to help than the most awesome matchmaking trio ever? #3 of TMAMT series.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: And here is another Bad Touch Trio matchmaking service fic. The sequel to Desaparición and Leunung. The couple this time… USxUK! Established SpainxRomano and GermanyxItaly as background couples.

* * *

**Rivalry**

**Part 1**

It was like watching a ping pong match, except a billion times better. Mostly because ping pong matches usually didn't lead to situations where the contestants attempted to crush each other's windpipes. Although it was always a possibility at some matches.

The insults were flying back and forth just like a ping pong ball, though. Since this was a fairly common occurrence, however, most of the nations weren't even paying attention. Italy had fallen asleep with his head against Germany's shoulder, which Germany seemed to be completely fine with. He was flipping through his folder, apparently having decided to wait this argument out instead of trying to stop it.

Romano was resting with his head on the table, watching the two arguing nations with only vague interest. Spain had taken this stillness as an opportunity to run his fingers through the other nation's hair and murmur to him in Spanish.

France was watching the two arguing nations with interest, although he also had decided not to intervene. His expression was almost, actually, calculating, as if he were thinking of something.

Some of the other nations had followed Italy's example and took this distraction as an opportunity to nap, a few were looking through their notes, Poland was painting his nails, occasionally leaning over to show them to Lithuania, who was doodling on a scrap of paper, Russia was tapping his pipe against the table and singing softly to himself in Russian.

And America and England continued to argue.

"And you're always eating those bloody hamburgers!"

"I know for a fact that you love McDonald's, old man!" America was glaring down at the seated England from the end of the table, his arms crossed over his chest almost defensively. "I've been to London and I've seen them everywhere! They aren't anywhere near as good as real McDonald's, but all of your cooking sucks, so it isn't surprising."

England leapt to his feet, setting his tea cup down on the table loud enough to rattle the saucer. "My cooking is absolutely delicious, you wanker!"

A few of the table's occupants vaguely wondered how the conversation had moved from America's newest plan to stop global warming (covering the entire earth with mirrors in order to reflect the sun's rays back into space) to insulting each other's cooking. Most just accepted it as a normal conversation between the two.

"Mes amis. As entertaining as this conversation is, we really should get on with the meeting."

Both completely ignored him, too caught up in their fight to even notice that they were in the middle of a room filled with other countries. Not that it would really make too much of a difference if they did notice. They'd still probably ignore France.

Germany sighed and shifted his weight slightly, attempting to not wake up the Italian. "America! England! We need to finish this meeting!"

They both turned to look at him, then glared at each other before England reluctantly returned to his seat and began sipping his tea. America sighed and returned to his presentation, flashing the seated nation an unnoticed, almost sad look.

Or, mostly unnoticed.

There was one nation who was watching the proceedings with great interest and had definitely noticed the expression.

An evil grin passed over France's face and he glanced toward Spain, who, as always, hadn't noticed anything. Probably because he was completely focused on Romano, who looked as if he were half asleep now.

France drew his foot back and kicked the Spaniard's ankle. Which succeeded in not only getting his attention, but caused a rather amusing chain reaction. As he was startled enough that he accidentally tugged on Romano's curl. Which startled the Italian into jumping wide awake and immediately start cursing at the Spaniard, who attempted futilely to defend himself. This woke up Veneciano, who started whining that he was hungry. Germany groaned and rubbed at his forehead, feeling the beginnings of a migraine coming on.

"If nothing else of importance is going to be discussed at the meeting, I move that we go home," he hurriedly called to the others. Before anybody else started fighting.

"Ah, I agree with Germany," Japan hurriedly added. Many of the others also concurred.

America scowled, but nodded in agreement after a moment. "All right, then everybody's dismissed."

Most of the nations immediately began to file out of the room. As Spain passed by France, attempting to apologize to a still-fuming Romano, France grabbed his arm and tugged him back. "Antoine, I have something to talk to you about. You'll come with me, oui?"

Romano immediately flashed him a look that should have instantly caused him to burst into flames. But Spain, in typical Spain-fashion, just grinned and nodded. "Well, all right. Lovi…" He turned, but the Italian had already run off without him.

"Why did you kick me, Francis? Lovi's angry with me again. And I just got him to stop yelling at me…"

"I was just thinking during the meeting… It would be so much more pleasant for everyone involved if Amérique and Angleterre would stop with all of their flirting and just have a lovely nuit de amour."

"Flirting?"

Ah yes, France had almost forgotten. This was Spain. He was probably even worse than America at reading unspoken signs. "Yes, flirting. I think that everyone would appreciate it if we provided them with a tiny push…"

Spain frowned slightly. "It won't involve kidnapping this time, will it? I don't think I could deal with anymore kidnapping."

"Non, non. No kidnapping. I was thinking that it would be more useful to use a more traditional ploy against them." He sidled closer to his friend, beginning to undo his shirt's buttons as he slipped into a more seductive voice. "L'amour can be a very dangerous thing, non? Sometimes the person refuses to admit unless they think that there's a rival for their beloved's affections."

"Really?" His shirt was almost entirely off and he hadn't even noticed yet. France occasionally understood Romano's frustration with his friend's denseness. Still, he wasn't complaining in situations like this.

"Spagna!"

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

Romano was standing in the doorway, flashing them both a glare that beat his other by a long shot. This one should not only have set them both on fire, but it also should have run them over with a truck, thrown them through a wood chipper, taken an ax to them, and finally buried them with a headstone that read 'fuck you'.

Spain lit up as if the Italian had arrived bearing red roses and singing his love. "Lovi~!" he exclaimed, running toward the furious nation.

He received a fist in the stomach for his trouble. And then a kick in the side when he went down. For a moment, Romano just glared down at him. Then he whirled around and stomped out. "Fucking Spagna!"

"Espera!" He jumped back to his feet surprisingly quickly and then raced after him. "Lovi~! Why are you angry?"

Ah, l'amour…

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A/N: So I guess this kind of turned into a series? Hmmm, well, I guess that's fun ;D I like writing series.

All righty, so… as stated on my profile (but I'll post it here too just for those who haven't read the note on my profile) I'm in London while I'm writing this (It's amazing by the way) and our syllabus is very intensive, so updating will be slow. I'm hoping to do it at least once a week, but I can't make any promises. If I stop updating for a while, I WILL finish, I promise, it's just that my ridiculous busyness is catching up to me. But I WILL WILL WILL cross my heart and hope to die, finish this and my other fic in progress (which is almost done anyway) so just keep watching.

And I love reviews so keep them coming. They always brighten my day. :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Rivalry**

**Part 2**

America was sitting outside, doing quite possibly his favorite thing in the world. Eating a hamburger.

There was something so wonderful about hamburgers. He'd tried multiple times to explain this fact to certain other countries…particularly one bushy-eyebrowed country who had no sense of taste. However, he seemed to be the only one so far who could really appreciate the flavorful delight that was a hamburger.

He glanced toward the door of the meeting building and then back down toward his watch. What was taking England so long to get out here anyway? His burger was going to go cold if he didn't hurry up. And after America was so kind as to get him one without even being asked. (The fact that there had been a 'buy 2 burgers for $3' sale had nothing to do with it.)

So the least England could do was to hurry up and get out here instead of making America wait forever. The meeting had ended almost ten minutes ago. He should definitely be out here by now.

America sighed and glanced down into the bag sitting beside him on the bench.

There was a hamburger. Sitting right next to him. And he'd finished his…and he was quite hungry… And it was _right _there and England was being slow…

"What are you still doing here?"

America glanced up to see England standing in front of him, arms crossed over his chest, glaring down at him. When had he gotten there?

More importantly, when had the hamburger jumped from the bag and into his hand? Because he didn't remember opening it…

Oh yeah, England had just asked him a question. He grinned and leapt to his feet, taking a bite of the hamburger and then stating quickly, "I figured that since you suck at cooking, I'd bring you a hamburger!"

He extended the bag out toward England, who glanced into it curiously and then looked back up at the American with exasperation. "There's nothing in there."

…Oh yeah. He was currently eating England's hamburger…

"Well, you were taking too long!" It wasn't his fault that he got hungry.

"I was talking with Japan," England sighed, rolling his eyes in a way that plainly stated that he considered America to be a complete idiot and was currently wondering why he was even bothering talking to him. "Not that I'd want a hamburger anyway. That rubbish that you call food is going to give you a heart attack someday."

America was pretty sure that it was impossible for a nation to have a heart attack. "Psh, you're just jealous that your burgers don't taste as good as mine. And that you can't make your McFlurry's right."

For a long while, England just stared at America in amazement. Then his eyes narrowed and his hands fisted at his side and "What are you talking about, you bloody git?! I'll have you know that my McDonald's food is a hundred times better than your greasy excuse for a meal."

"You don't even know what the candies are called! You put _toffee_ in them! And you don't even flurry the McFlurry's. You just put your weird toffee candies in and don't even bother to stir them up!"

"Toffee is absolutely wonderful! Better than your 'oreos' or whatever you call them…"

"Plus, you call cookies 'biscuits,' which makes absolutely no sense…"

"And what about your bloody football? You use your hands…"

"And potato chips! What do you call them? 'Crisps'?"

"Artie!"

And suddenly England was tackled from the side by an overly exuberant albino nation, knocking him straight into America.

Usually America would not be taken off guard by something like this. He was a hero and heroes should be constantly aware of their surroundings. However, he was pretty sure that most heroes didn't have a Prussian nation suddenly attack the person that they were engaged in a word fight with and throw them all onto the ground.

Which he now realized was quite painful, as both England and Prussia had fallen on top of him.

Although his burger was still in his hand. And had survived the fall unscathed.

For a few seconds, he just gazed in amazement at the sight. It was a miracle!! A blessed hamburger!!

And then an elbow jabbed into his ribs and a boot kicked a few inches shy of an area where he'd much rather not be kicked.

"Hey!"

"Bloody git! Why the fuck did you tackle me?!"

Prussia cackled from where he was now sitting on England's back, apparently extremely amused by this sudden development. "Haha! You just can't handle my awesomeness, can you?"

"You just jumped me! Get off!"

Prussia ignored him, apparently content on remaining on top of the dogpile. "Hey, Artie. You promised that you'd come drinking with France and Spain and the awesome me!"

England groaned and let his head fall backwards. Against America's chest, which he hurriedly realized and attempted to roll away from.

Thankfully, Prussia really didn't weigh that much, so it was possible for him to roll over. Unfortunately, this displaced the other nation and caused him to fall forward and crush both of them. America groaned and suddenly pushed both of them to the side. Hero or no hero, he wasn't about to let himself be crushed.

England grunted as he fell back against the pavement, Prussia still half-lying on top of him. It was probably a bad sign that he was starting to get used to these random attacks. Prussia seemed to have learned something from Italy's hugs. The best way to get someone's attention was to jump them.

"So you're coming, right? Since you promised."

Why did he associate with this idiot? The last thing he wanted to do right now was go drinking with Prussia, France, and Spain. Especially France. Spain wasn't hard to deal with, although sometimes when he got really really drunk, he'd start whining at him about his Armada. And Prussia was actually rather fun to drink with…if you didn't mind spending the night in a prison cell at least.

But he'd rather claw his eyeballs out than agree to spend unnecessary time with France.

He was about to state this, and continue to yell at Prussia to get the hell off of him, when he was interrupted by familiar screaming coming from the building he'd just left.

"Fucking bastard Spagna!"

"Lovi~ why are you angry? I didn't do anything…"

"Spain-nii, Nii-chan!"

Prussia immediately was off of England and halfway to the ruckus, already sensing that this would be something entertaining to involve himself in.

England sat up, rubbing at the back of his head and flashing a glare to Prussia's back before sending an identical one to America. Who was staring at the commotion and eating that hamburger—which should have been his, by the way—like this was some sort of carnival for his entertainment.

Romano was yelling at Spain. Nothing out of the ordinary there. Spain looked entirely confused and was attempting to reason with him, while Italy was standing beside Spain and looked as if he were about to burst into tears. Germany looked as if he'd rather be anywhere else right now, while France grinned from where he was standing on the front step, looking much too pleased with himself.

So let's see… France had probably been molesting Spain, who was too oblivious to realize what was going on. Romano had walked in, gotten furious, and run out. Spain had followed, entirely confused about what was going on. Italy had maybe been outside with Germany when his brother had run out, upset. This, in turn, had upset Italy… And now everybody else was either attempting to ignore the pandemonium, or, in Prussia's case, was attempting to figure out how to irritate it to more explosive levels.

England sighed and stood, glancing quickly toward America, who was too interested in the proceedings—Romano was now screaming at Spain about a French pervert…he'd been right—to even notice that he was leaving.

He couldn't recall another time when he'd actually been grateful for Romano's temper, but there had to be a first time for everything.

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A/N: Yeah, British and American differences in vocabulary, restaurants, etc. are quite entertaining. And have led to some awkward moments for me…

For everyone who wished me good luck in London, thank you very much!! I've managed to update this faster than I expected since my workload hasn't been too incredibly ridiculous yet. I absolutely love it here! England is so gorgeous…

Reviews are greatly loved. :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Rivalry**

**Part 3**

"No."

Prussia crossed his arms over his chest, his expression plainly reading 'you're going to regret it if you don't give me what I want'. "You can't ban us from your bar. We're your most loyal customers."

"Just because you scare most of my other customers away!"

Since they were in England anyway for this meeting, they'd decided to go grace their favourite bartender with their awesome presence. Unfortunately, he seemed to be in a rather foul mood today. He was standing in front of the door to his pub, crossing his arms over his chest and flashing them a furious glare.

France sighed, slipping his hand into the pocket of his coat for his wallet. It came out along with a bottle of lube, which he slipped back in with a wink at Prussia. "How much would it require for you to change your mind?"

The bartender glared at him distastefully, looking even more disgusted. If that was even possible. "More than you have, so you might as well go find some other pub."

"Ah, but mon ami. No other is so strategically placed. And we've grown quite partial to your drinks." And the help that you employ. For some reason, the waiters at this pub seemed much more agreeable to France's advances than those at most of England's places. Something that he greatly enjoyed.

"No. Now leave me alone." And, before they could say anything else, he'd stepped backwards and slammed the door in their faces.

For a few moments, France and Prussia just stared at the now closed door as if expecting it to open up again if they were persistent enough. However, eventually Prussia sighed in irritation and turned toward his friend. "Looks like we'll have to find somewhere else."

France sighed. "Unfortunately." And he'd had his eyes on the cute blond who cleaned tables in the back. He'd have to complain to England later about his citizens. He turned to where Spain was sitting on the stoop, looking rather dejected as he stared down at the ground.

Prussia noticed and immediately set his elbows on his friend's head, leaning over so he could look at Spain's face upside down. "Cheer up. Your little boy toy can't stay mad at you forever."

Spain sighed. "I didn't do anything."

"I didn't know that it was necessary for you to actually do something for Romano to be angry with you. Come on, cheer up. We can go raid Westen's beer that he thinks I don't know he's hiding in his office."

Spain didn't reply for a moment, seemingly not even in the mood to be cheered up, but then he sighed and slowly rose to his feet. "All right."

Prussia didn't know why his brother even bothered attempting to hide his stash of beer. If there was one thing that Prussia was good at—and he was awesome in so many ways that it would be impossible to count them all—it was getting into places that he wasn't supposed to.

Which was how they managed to break into Germany's house (as Prussia had lost his key…again), office, and safe (which was hidden behind a safe…really?) at a speed that would have put any burglar to shame.

"So, what is this awesome idea that you came up with?" Prussia questioned, as they immediately set into the beer. He leaned back appreciatively in his brother's chair, eyeing the beer proudly. This was better than anything that England could come up with by a long shot.

France immediately grinned and leaned forward, his eyes attentive on his friend. "Ah, mon ami, I have come up with the perfect plan."

"To do what?" Prussia looked semi-suspicious at the remark. Spain had opted to ignore them and instead was leaning against the wall with his own bottle of beer while he texted rapidly with his cell phone. Probably to Lovi. Probably to beg him to tell him why he was so angry.

"Simple, mon ami," France replied, grinning brightly in self-satisfaction. This was an excellent plan, if he did say so himself. And so entertaining. L'amour was so fun. Even if he would ultimately be helping his rival… He considered the entertainment gained by messing with England and America's minds to be worth the affront against the natural order. He'd make England's life a living hell later… "We are going to help Amérique and Angleterre get over their two decade-running sexual tension."

Prussia stared at his friend in disbelief and then immediately shook his head and took a long swig of his drink. "I think I'm too sober to understand you. You want to help England and America get together? Why?"

"L'amour!" That should be obvious. Even to Prussia, who France sometimes suspected of not having a romantic bone in his body. "It is a crime against l'amour to let such passionate emotions go to waste."

Prussia continued to stare at him and then leaned over to swipe Spain's bottle, which he'd left beside him on the floor as he stared at the screen of his phone as if waiting desperately for a response. Which he probably was.

"I'm definitely not drunk enough. What do you think we are? Some damn matchmaking service?" He took a long drink and then slammed the bottle down on the floor for no apparent reason. "I mean, we've already gotten this idiot—" he waved vaguely toward Spain, who was so engrossed in writing back a response to the text that he hadn't even noticed that he'd been dragged into the conversation "—together with his crabby boy toy. We've helped out Westen to get together with Feli. Which is totally unfair, as Feli is way too awesome to be hanging around with my bruder. And now you want us to involve ourselves with those two idiots?"

"Oui." France nodded immediately. "For l'amour."

Prussia took another drink and then leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he eyed France suspiciously. "Well, then if we're a matchmaking service, why aren't we getting paid for this?"

France hesitated. "Paid?"

"Yeah, you know like those dating sites. You put up a profile and then set yourself up on dates."

Spain lifted his head from his intense text messaging conversation. He seemed to have returned to his normal self, as he was grinning rather brightly. "Hey, I remember that. Didn't you make a profile?"

Prussia's skin almost instantly turned a rather interesting shade of pink. "Ha…not seriously. I was just playing around."

France grinned. This sounded good. "And how many lovely ladies asked you out?"

Prussia's flush deepened and he suddenly looked down, as if he'd just noticed that he was holding a drink. "I forget now… It was a long time ago."

"Three!" Spain answered cheerily. "One of them was a mud-wrestler and the other two had albino fetishes!"

Prussia was instantly across the room and had tackled Spain. "Shut up, idiot! That's just because they were all intimidated by my awesomeness!!"

"And I think that none of them ever responded to your second email, right?"

"They couldn't handle my awesomeness!"

France grinned. As much as he'd love to let this go on—he made a mental note to go searching for Prussia's profile later—they had other things to be doing. "Mes amis, don't forget. I haven't told you the plan yet."

They both paused for a moment and turned toward him, Prussia on Spain's back and tugging his hair while he held Spain's vibrating cell phone out of reach, as Spain attempted to grab at it and extract Prussia's hand from his hair.

"What are you doing, anyway?" Prussia questioned, ignoring France in favour of the more interesting device in his hand. He ignored Spain's protests and flipped the phone open, opening the text message. Immediately his eyes widened.

"What the fuck? You've been sending dirty text messages and didn't tell us!"

And now France was by his side and had grabbed the phone too, flipping through the text messages. A lewd grin started to cross his face as he beamed.

"My…my…Antoine. I think I've been underestimating you."

Prussia was staring in shock at his friend and then glanced back at the phone, his eyes widening slightly. "Who knew that Romano was that kinky?"

"Give it back!"

"Would you like to respond, mon ami?" France questioned, handing the phone back to Prussia.

"I don't know. I think that Tonio has been doing a pretty good job of keeping up the conversation himself." He held the open phone in front of Spain's face, ignoring his attempts to free himself. "How would you respond to this one?"

Spain stared at the phone, attempting to read the moving object. After a few moments, he managed to finally focus his eyes long enough to read it through.

And almost immediately passed out from a combination of shock, intoxication, and blood loss from the massive nosebleed that suddenly spouted from his nostrils.

* * *

A/N: …Mud-wrestler. That was so freaking random. I don't even know. I'd love to see Prussia's profile on a dating site. I can just imagine it… And Spain and Romano are being naughty ;D

Blah, I feel like this is so slow right now. Things should start getting more interesting next chapter though.

Thanks to those who are wishing me luck in London. You're all so sweet!! :D And I think I've officially fallen in love with this city. :D

Reviews are loved loved! I'm sorry that I've been bad on replying, but know that I appreciate all of yoU!!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Rivalry**

**Part 4**

England why he even bothered putting locks on his doors. They apparently didn't deter unwanted visitors.

"Iggy!"

He sometimes, when he had nothing better to do during the fights that broke out during the summit meetings, would mentally hold a debate in his head about who was more annoying. The frog…or this bloody American.

Right now, he was going with the idiot American. As he had just burst into the room and caused England to spill his tea over his brand-new shirt that he'd just put on maybe fifteen minutes ago.

Maybe if he put up a barbed-wire fence?

"Fuck! You bloody git!" He jumped up, yelping as the hot liquid soaked through the fabric and burned his skin. Really, his day just kept getting better. This morning—if anyone could consider three as technically being morning—he'd been awoken by the sound of his cell phone playing a funeral dirge.

Which he knew meant that the frog was calling him.

At three in the fucking morning.

He'd answered, opening his mouth to start screaming at him, but was interrupted before he could begin by France remarking, as if It were perfectly normal and acceptable to call someone at three in the morning, "Did you know that Antoine was the catcher in his relationship?"

…A long pause, in which England had fought desperately to keep himself from throwing his phone across the room.

Instead, he screeched, "YOU CALLED ME AT THREE IN THE FUCKING MORNING TO TELL ME THAT?!?!?!"

France just laughed, although it sounded farther away, as if he'd moved the phone from his ear in order to keep himself from going deaf. "Non, I just thought it was an interesting little tidbit of information."

England immediately hung up and this time did throw the phone across the room. Although it somehow managed to land on a pillow, which rather ruined the expression of anger.

The phone had rung about ten more times that morning and he'd received at least twenty text messages. He'd finally put the damn thing on silent, hoping that his boss didn't need to call him for any reason.

And now, while he was yelling at America for startling him, his house phone rang.

That was it!

He marched across the room and picked up the phone. "If this is you, Francis, I'm going to fucking kill you."

France laughed, that incredibly irritating sound making England's fist start twitching in the desire to punch the frog right in his smug mouth. "Mon ami! You finally answered!"

"And I have no interest in Spain's sex life, so don't even think about mentioning it, bloody frog."

America immediately flashed him a confused, rather disturbed look.

"Is someone jealous, mon ami? You know that I'm always available."

"Shut up and just tell me what the fuck you want."

"I was just talking to Prusse and he told me that you'd promised to come drink with us."

"I never agreed to that."

France made an irritating 'tsk'ing noise. "But mon ami, things are always so much more entertaining when you're there."

"I am not going drinking with you, fucking frog. My boss is still furious about last time."

Meanwhile, America had already lost interest in whatever England was talking about. After the whole random remark about Spain's sex life, at least. He just wished that Iggy would hurry up. He wanted to do something.

"Iggy~" he whined, as England scowled at the telephone, completely ignoring him.

He was the hero! Heroes shouldn't be ignored!

"Igggggggyyyyyyyy~"

England flashed him a glare that quite plainly read 'if you don't shut up, I'm going to shove this phone up where the sun doesn't shine'.

It was an oddly specific look that he'd been on the receiving end of more times than he liked to remember.

"Look, frog, if I go, then will you stop calling me?"

America had never been very good at dealing with boredom. Especially when said boredom came because Iggy wasn't paying attention to him. He'd been that way even as a little kid. And he'd often done very…stupid things…in order to gain that attention.

The most memorable of these attention-gaining moments had been when England had decided to bring America with him when he went to visit France's boss—as training in diplomacy or something boring like that. America hadn't been paying attention when he told him what the point was.

He'd thought that it might be cool. Uncle France always gave the best presents after all.

Instead, he'd been forced to wear a scratchy suit and tie that was trying to suffocate him, sit in an uncomfortable chair for hours on end, and listen to the adults argue about boring things while sipping wine. Which they hadn't even let him try.

He'd left at one point, using the excuse that he had to go to the bathroom, and had started planning how he'd get back home. He was a pretty amazing swimmer, so it shouldn't be too much of a problem. And if he got tired, he could always ask one of the whales for help.

However, fortunately for him and unfortunately for everyone else in the building, Prussia just happened to be visiting his friend at that moment.

…And that was how he'd been introduced to firecrackers.

England had never taken him on any diplomatic meetings after that, something which he was incredibly happy about. Apparently Prussia had also had his secret trade route with China cut off, too, which he'd seemed to take surprisingly well.

Anyways, so America didn't enjoy being bored and not being the center of attention.

Which meant that he was now attempting to come up with some way of dealing with both problems.

England was currently engaged in an argument with France about how his cooking didn't suck—one that America had heard way too many times before—so he decided to head off to the kitchen in search of something at least vaguely entertaining.

What he found was something that he definitely hadn't been expecting…

Namely, a half-naked Prussian sitting at the kitchen table and drinking a cup of coffee.

He glanced up at the American's entrance and immediately grinned widely. "Hey, America. Fancy seeing you here."

* * *

A/N: Woohoo, Prussia ;D

And herein begins the Awesome Plan to Mess with America and Iggy's Heads.

Which does not involve kidnapping, but does have a little bit of breaking and entering…

So a lot of people have been asking for the secret awesomeness of Spain and Romano's texts... Ummm, yeah ;D I think I might hint at what they wrote, but I don't know if I could actually write them all out. lol. My mind isn't quite dirty enough to sink to their levels. Haha.

So, not that this is a promise, but I'm kind of semi-working on a longish one or two-shot serious/angsty Fall of Rome story. It'd be my first time writing a serious fanfic (not my first time writing a serious story by any means, as I've written lots of original horror pieces). Just wondering how many people would be interested in that sort of thing. And for those of you reading "And It's Supposed to be the Day of Love" do not fear that I have dropped it!! She's being quite stubborn and I had to restart the most recent chapter about four times before I could come up with anything decent, but I finally came upon an idea that I think will most definitely work. So just hold out for a bit longer.

Thanks for all of the reviews and encouragement! I love you all! 3


	5. Chapter 5

**Rivalry**

**Part 5**

It was quite entertaining to watch America's expression change from a mixture of boredom, irritation, and disappointment to one of complete confusion within a matter of seconds. It was all Prussia could do not to laugh. France had been right about this. This was definitely going to be fun.

"Hey, America. Fancy seeing you here," he remarked, leaning his head slightly to the side as he watched the American. Attempting to look as innocent as possible.

He had to give the kid some credit. He bounced back pretty quickly from this sort of shock.

"Oh, hi—" America hesitated, attempting to remember what he was supposed to call the ex-nation now. He couldn't remember his real name, and he wasn't Prussia anymore…

"Don't tell me that you forgot the awesome Prussia?" Prussia laughed, a tad bitterly as if aware of why the American hesitated. He grinned, however, and reached up to his head to dislodge the little yellow chick that had been napping among the silvery strands. "Say hey to America, Gilbird."

The bird met the American's eyes with little beady black ones and then cheeped once. America wasn't entirely sure if he should say hi back, so he just offered an awkward little finger wiggle-wave. Prussia nodded, this apparently being acceptable to him, and set the chick next to his saucer as he took a swig of his coffee.

"Um, what are you doing in Iggy's house?" America finally questioned, glancing back towards the room where England was now screeching through the telephone that his eyebrows did not look like caterpillars and they would not be turning into butterflies someday.

Prussia's grin widened and he winked almost lewdly. "Really, America? You have to ask?"

"Um…yes?"

Prussia chuckled in amusement at the slightly worried look that America was flashing him. So much fun. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and his chin on his palms. "Well, America, when two people love each other very much they sometimes get these urges to seize each other's vital…"

"Eh!" America immediately held up his hand to stop him. "Okay, okay, I get it!"

Prussia looked a little disappointed at being stopped. He hadn't been able to give anyone that speech since Germany was a kid. He still remembered that day fondly. France had even offered to come over and assist.

If you asked Germany about that day, he'd probably run screaming from the room.

"So…since when are you and Iggy…?" There was no way he was going to finish that question. He attempted to make a motion to represent what he was trying to say, but failed rather miserably.

Prussia smirked. "Artie and I have been together forever. Since before you were around, at least." He took another sip of his coffee before setting it back on the saucer. Gilbird was eyeing it curiously. "He doesn't want anybody to know though. You know how he is." He shrugged, waving vaguely. "Doesn't matter to me. I'm awesome no matter who knows what."

America was attempting to wrap his head around this shocking revelation. Iggy and Prussia? Iggy and _Prussia_? _Iggy _and Prussia? How in the world could Iggy ever date someone like Prussia?

"You don't believe me or something?" Prussia pouted, stirring his spoon in his coffee distractedly.

America grasped at this strand. There was no way this was true. "Heh, of course not. You're just trying to make a joke. You and Iggy aren't really a cou—"

"I can tell you where his tattoo is."

"E—eh?" America was starting to feel as if every sentence that Prussia spoke was the equivalent of a bag of concrete bricks being smashed against his head. He was so shocked that he was starting to sound like his brother. "Tattoo? Iggy doesn't have a—"

"Sure he does." Prussia grinned even more brightly and winked in a decidedly France-like fashion. "So do I, actually. Wanna see it?"

"No!" The way that he was grinning definitely told America that he did _not_ want to see it.

Iggy had a tattoo? Prussia had to be pulling his leg. There was no way that stuffy Iggy would ever have a tattoo. Iggy was definitely not cool enough to have a tattoo.

"Mine's definitely more awesome, but his isn't bad." Prussia smirked up at America again, enjoying the look of shock, dismay, and disbelief that was crossing his face. France was right. This was better than getting paid. He was suddenly interrupted from his thoughts, however, when he heard a sudden cheep of panic from the table.

Both nations glanced down in surprise and stared in shock at the panicking Gilbird, who had somehow managed to fall into the cup of coffee. The question of how exactly he had managed this is one that will probably never be answered. Although weird actions should be expected from anything that spends long periods of time in Prussia's presence. For a moment, Prussia just stared at his pet in surprise and then hurriedly scooped him out.

"Gilbird! That's totally not awesome! If you wanted coffee, you should have just asked." He sighed and shook his head in disappointment, carefully smoothing the chick's ruffled feathers. "Well, looks like I'd better head out," he remarked to America, standing. In the process revealing that he happened to be only wearing a pair of Prussian blue boxers that were printed with yellow chicks.

He walked across the room…actually, not really walked. More sauntered… And dumped the remaining coffee into the sink. Then he turned, leaning back against the counter and winked at America. "Hey, so don't tell Artie that you saw me here. You know how he gets about things."

America was still so shocked that he couldn't think straight. "Eh, sure."

"Thanks, you're awesome." He set the very wet Gilbird onto his shoulder and gave his head a soft pat, his eyes never leaving America. "Not as awesome as me, of course, but still pretty awesome." He started to walk toward the door, then seemed to think of something and turned. "By the way, tell that brother of yours 'hi' for me, okay?"

"Who? Oh…Canada?"

"Yeah, and tell him that he'd better be sending me some more maple syrup. I'm almost out." He winked and then cackled. "See ya later, Alfred."

And then he was gone. And America felt as if everything that he'd ever known had just been torn out from under his feet.

* * *

A/N: I want a Gilbird. He's so cute! Even if he does fall into coffee ;D

And can you just imagine Prussia giving anyone "the talk"? Actually…can you just imagine anyone in the Bad Touch Trio giving their colonies the talk? I feel like that would be a hilarious fanfic in and of itself.

Quick updates are awesome, yes yes? Lol.


	6. Chapter 6

**Rivalry**

**Part 6**

Stupid bloody frog.

England needed tea. That was the only way he'd ever discovered of dealing with the stupidity of the bloody frog. Yes, a nice cup of steaming hot Earl Grey tea sounded splendid.

That is, until he walked into his kitchen and suddenly remembered that he had the only country that could rival the frog in stupidity waiting inside of his home.

Damn it. If he wanted his tea, he'd have to deal with the American.

For a few minutes, he stood in the doorway, trying to decide which was worse. Going without tea or dealing with America.

It was an incredibly difficult question.

Which was answered when said American suddenly turned, denying him the ability to escape without being noticed.

Tea it was, then.

"What are you still doing here?" England asked, as he marched intothe kitchen and made his way to the cupboard where he kept his tea, not even flashing a glance at America. He opened the doors, glancing over the very well-organized stash of at least seventy types of tea, before he realized that he'd just asked a question and hadn't received a response.

America hadn't said anything yet…

He must not have heard him. England glanced over his shoulder curiously as he pulled down a half-empty box of Earl Grey. "I said, 'what are you still doing here?'"

America still didn't answer.

...Well, that was weird.

England turned, setting the box on the counter, and walked over to his former charge. He stood on his tiptoes--don't think too much about that--so he could reach up and feel his forehead. "Hey, are you sick or something?"

"AH!" And at that, America seemed to wake up. And proceeded to panic when he saw the face suddenly much too close to his.

England jumped back in response, hitting his head on the still-open cupboard behind him.

"Ow…damn it, what was that for?"

"What were you doing?" America exclaimed, pointing a shaky finger toward him.

"I was checking your forehead to see if you had a damned fever. What did you think I was doing?"

America wasn't sure what he thought England was doing. His mind was basically only playing the same sentence over and over again...

Iggy has a tattoo. Iggy has a tattoo. Iggy is dating _Prussia _and he has a tattoo.

He wasn't sure why he was so fixated on the idea of England having a tattoo. Shouldn't he be more confused by the fact that he was dating _Prussia _of all people?

Actually, in all honesty, that didn't really surprise him that much. He knew that Prussia and England had a long history and, when England wasn't furious at him for doing something stupid and getting them arrested, they seemed to get along pretty well. They went out drinking all the time together, after all.

It kind of irritated him, though. Why hadn't Iggy ever told him about this? And why was Iggy dating _Prussia_?

"Are you okay? Do you need to sit down?" England was now really worried. America was never this quiet. Normally he'd be tearing his kitchen apart in order to find the box of coffee that England kept for his arrival—England had given in on that because if he didn't have coffee readily available, he'd have to listen to America's whining for hours on end.

"I'll make you some coffee."

No response. America seemed completely off in his own little world, almost like he was in shock.

What in the world was going on here?

"What if I—" he almost had to pry the next words out of his throat "go over to McDonald's and get you a hamburger?"

Still no response.

That did it. Something was seriously wrong with him. America refusing a hamburger was like Italy refusing pasta or Romano refusing tomatoes. It meant that something was seriously wrong. Like 'the end of the world is upon us' level of wrong.

England was out in the hallway at a speed that would have even put a retreating Italian army to shame.

"Bloody frog, I think America's dying."

England had never been entirely sure why France was always the person he called when there was a crisis. Probably force of habit caused by his many many calls to the frog threatening him with war, the police, a restraining order, or Russia.

"Mon cher?" France sounded slightly surprised to have England calling him again, particularly after he'd just been hung up on after a well-placed attack on his fairy hallucinations. Still, he wasn't going to complain.

"I just offered to buy America a hamburger and he refused. I think he's dying." What in the world should he do? Call the hospital? The police? America's boss?

He wasn't sure what exactly he would say to the president if he did happen to call him. 'Yes, so I think that there's something seriously wrong with your nation. Yes, Alfred just refused a hamburger. Yes, I think that this could be called a national emergency—maybe even international.'

Somehow he doubted that an explanation like that would fly with the man. It was one of the annoying aspects of America's system of government. Every four—or eight—years he'd get a new boss and you'd have to explain all of this--the fact that there were nations, the fact that said nations were generally quite human, all of that--to them again. Most of them took their entire term just getting used to the idea, while some never did and would just pretend that Alfred and the others didn't even exist. This one was too new to even understand the gravity of this sort of situation.

"Don't panic, mon cher. I'm sure that Amérique is fine," France's voice came soothingly through the phone. "Why don't you let me talk to him?"

"All right." England started to cross into the other room, attempting to think through what could possibly have caused this weird behaviour. But then he froze.

America was gone.

"Al—America? Where are you, you bloody git!?"

* * *

A/N: Huzzah! I've updated again! So this should've been up a few days ago, but I haven't had a chance to edit it til today cuz I've been ridiculously busy, so it took me longer. But it's here finally!

So remember how waaaaaaaaaaay back in one of the early chapters of Leunung, I mentioned how I really was craving gelato? Well, I've FINALLY had some. And it was amazing. Although, the only reason I got gelato was because I got ridiculously lost while trying to find the riverbank one night and randomly passed this little Italian restaurant.

Oh well, getting lost was so worth it for gelato.


	7. Chapter 7

**Rivalry**

**Part 7**

He was going to kill that bastard Spagna.

Not at this exact moment, because he happened to be a little too sore and exhausted and there was no way he was untangling himself from his blankets anytime soon. But at some point in the near future, Spain was going to be found lying in a ditch somewhere.

There he was, standing below his window, talking to those other two bastards, completely oblivious to the fact that France had his hand up his shirt and Prussia was standing way _way _too close to him.

Stupid bastard Spagna.

Romano was sitting on the window seat, wrapped in basically all of the sheets that had once been on their bed, glaring down at the trio. He'd woken up this morning to find that Spain had not only uncharacteristically risen before him—something that he hadn't known Spain to do since they started…um…cohabitating his bedroom—but he'd also left the room without waiting for him to wake up. Although there had been a note left on the nightstand, along with a Spanish omelette that he'd eaten before he even bothered to read the note.

_Lovi,_  
_Francis and Gilbert wanted to meet to talk about something privately, so we'll be right outside._  
_Te amo _(and here he'd drawn a little heart…really?)  
_Antonio _:)

But still. Spain just didn't do that sort of thing. Sure, he left notes all over the place for Romano to later find—Romano always complained about them, saying that they were annoying and cluttering, not admitting that he actually kept all of them in a box in his former bedroom—but usually they were a lot longer. And more flowery. And filled with annoying declarations of love and eternal devotion and all that shit…

The only thing even remotely like Spain about it was the smiley face and heart. And the fact that the stationary was tomato-print.

And where was he? Standing on the porch, right under their window, talking to those two bastards. Romano wasn't sure if Spain had chosen this place on purpose or if he'd just been his typical oblivious self and forgot that the front door was right underneath the window, but either way, it had given Romano the perfect vantage point to glare at them and consider throwing things at them. He'd brought over all of the bedding he could carry, cursing Spain out as soon as he set foot on the floor and a jolt of pain shot up his spine, and was now leaning right up against the glass so he could see exactly what was going on below him.

And he was quite pissed. Because not only was he in pain and could barely walk because of that bastard, but now he had to watch as said bastard's stupid pervert friends flirted with him.

Plus, he also had no idea why Spain was even there. What in the world could they want to talk with Spain about that couldn't be said in front of him? It wasn't as if they usually did this. They'd burst into Spain's house and talk in front of him about things he'd much rather not know about all the time. It wasn't as if they had any shame or anything…

Romano snorted irritably and glanced around his surroundings. Spain had removed most of his breakable items from the bedroom over the course of the years so he didn't have much of an arsenal to choose from. Stupid bastard…

Except for a pair of boots that were half-thrust under the bed, almost unnoticeable. The boots that Spain had been wearing when he came home last night…

No thinking about last night. He could feel a flush coming over his face just at the thought. No thinking about last night. He had other things to do.

He really didn't want to untangle himself from his very warm, very comfortable cocoon, but there were certain instances in which even that action was worth it. Having the opportunity to knock out a French pervert was one of them.

"Stupid Spagna." He was definitely locking the bedroom door before Spain could come back inside.

He grabbed the boots, along with a few other various items that could possibly cause harm, and brought them back to the window seat, curling back up with his blankets and eyeing the trio. France almost had the oblivious bastard's shirt entirely off at this point and Prussia was close enough that they might as well be kissing.

Stupid oblivious idiotic bastard Spagna.

He pushed the window open as quietly as possible, thankful when it chose not to squeak. One boot in one hand, one in the other, aim…and drop.

"OW!!!"

Perfect two part harmony from both perverted bastards at once. It was good he got all that practice in aiming from throwing things at Spain.

All of them had jerked back from where the boots had fallen after hitting them directly on the heads, Spain immediately glancing up to meet Romano's eyes as Prussia and France just looked confused.

Part two of operation 'get rid of stupid perverted friends' would now commence.

With a pair of Spain's dress shoes.

And an empty can that had once held soda.

And an empty wine bottle. Which made a very satisfying crashing sound against the sidewalk, even if it did technically miss both of them.

And a pillow, which he aimed at Spain's head.

Actually, he probably shouldn't have thrown the pillow, as he now only had three left and he was considering just sleeping here for the rest of the day.

"Lovi~!"

"You're a fucking idiot, Spagna."

"Lovi~" Spain was now hugging the pillow that had hit him on the head to his chest, staring up at Romano warily, as if expecting another hail of falling shoes and various other makeshift missiles. "We were just talking, Lovi. I'll be up in a few minutes."

"Damn it, that hurt." Prussia had backed out of range of the window and was now staring up at him with a slightly irritated, rather shocked expression.

France, on the other hand, had gotten past the pain caused by getting hit on the head by a boot, and a shoe, and a can, and was now grinning up at him as if completely aware about just why Romano was so irritated.

And then he moved back to Spain, wrapping his arms around his chest and leaning over his shoulder, winking up at the furious Italian.

Okay, never mind. Spain wasn't the one who was going to end up in a ditch. France was going down first. He'd deal with Spain later.

* * *

A/N: Note how Romano is slightly nicer to Spain than to France and Prussia ;D He only hit him with a pillow.

Sorry this took so long, I was in Canterbury for a while without my laptop and then I rewrote this like 3 times before I decided it was good enough. Blah ;P


	8. Chapter 8

**Rivalry**

**Part 8**

"Ow… Your little boy toy has damn good aim."

Prussia was holding an ice pack against his head, cursing Romano out every few seconds. Although he did have to (reluctantly) give him some credit. He hadn't realized just how dangerous Romano could be when he was in jealous mode.

Apparently Romano had gotten even more possessive over Spain since they'd officially gotten together.

France was sitting on the couch of Spain's living room, holding his own ice pack against his head and wincing slightly. "Oui," he agreed, pulling the pack away after a moment and setting it onto the coffee table in front of them, attempting to not make any sudden movements. "I suppose we're just lucky that he wasn't in the ammunitions room."

Prussia winced at the idea. He had no doubt that Romano would shoot to kill if he ever got his hands on a gun while around them.

Spain was sitting in his armchair, smiling apologetically at his friends. "Lo siento. Lovi doesn't like to wake up alone, so he was probably cranky about that."

Prussia considered that it probably had more to do with the fact that France had been in the process of undressing his lover and that said lover had been too oblivious to realize it…

"Really?" France questioned, grinning brightly at this new trivia fact. "Lovi doesn't like waking up alone? Très mignon."

Spain nodded slightly, completely oblivious of the look his friend was giving him of 'this could be potential blackmail'. "Sí. He's so cute while he's sleeping." And he was off in his lovestruck Lovi-centered world, cooing about how cute he was when he was sleeping and how he'd actually be cuddly when he was half-asleep when he first woke up and how he was so absolutely adorable just in general.

Prussia and France glanced at each other, used to this sort of thing from Spain. They let him go off for a while, France finally leaning over and groping him as a way to gain his attention. "Mon ami, remember why we are here…"

Spain glanced up at his friend, immediately nodding with a bright grin. "I almost forgot. So Prussia's part of the plan was a success?"

Prussia grinned. "America definitely thinks that Artie and I are dating. Poor kid was in shock. Especially when I told him about Artie's tattoo. I thought he might actually faint at that."

Spain turned toward him, obviously surprised. "England has a tattoo?"

France now flashed a surprised glance to Spain. "You didn't know? Oui, mon cher Angleterre does indeed have a tattoo."

Prussia nodded. "Yeah, we both got them a while ago… We were both pretty smashed…" He shrugged, as if this explained everything.

Which it did if you took present company into account.

Spain stared at Prussia contemplatively. Well this was definitely something to file under 'information that could potentially be useful'.

"So what next?"

France immediately sat up straighter and grinned at his friends, crossing his legs and leaning forward slightly in a conspiring pose. "Ah, mes amis…the best part. We now get to play with mon cher Angleterre." He winked lewdly at that statement. "Unfortunately not literally, but we cannot always get what we want."

"So what's the plan then with that?" Prussia questioned.

"Simple, mon ami. I—" he pointed to himself with another wink and grin, "will make Angleterre jealous."

"How?"

"Easily. Everyone knows that you, Prusse, are the last person that someone like mon petit Angleterre should be dating. And, as we all know, it would not be the action of a true hero to let someone remain trapped in a relationship like that. I will simply offer my services to assist Amérique in working to 'break you up'." He smiled and waved his hand in a flourish. "The rest will fall right into place."

Prussia wasn't sure how to react to that. France had just said that he wasn't someone that Artie should be dating. Of course he was someone that Artie should be dating. Everybody should be dating him! He was awesome, after all!

Still… America definitely wasn't awesome, so it would be impossible for him to totally understand just how awesome Prussia actually was… And therefore he wouldn't understand that anybody would feel honoured to be dated by someone as awesome as Prussia!

He liked that logic. It was very true, after all.

"And what should I do with Artie? It's not like he'd actually agree to go out with me."

"You two are rather close friends, non? Just do what you usually do and make sure that Amérique sees you."

"So my job is to go out and get smashed with Artie? Awesome!" He jumped up and immediately headed toward the door, probably in order to get an early start on that goal.

"Ah, although there are a few more things that you should do as well," France called, stopping him as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a little blue notebook. "I made some notes in here of other ways that you can help me make Amérique even more jealous."

Prussia paused, taking the notebook and flipping through the pages, his eyes widening in surprise at some of the entries. "Really? You do know that Artie will murder me if he ever finds out about this."

"It's all in the name of l'amour, mon ami."

He continued to flip through the book for a few more moments, then sighed and nodded. "All right, I'll do it. But you're going to owe me big time after this."

And that was that. France and Spain stood as well and started to follow him to the door, all so wrapped up in their plans that none of them noticed a dark shape suddenly move at the top of the stairs. A dark shape that had been sitting there for most of their conversation, listening intently to everything they said. After a few seconds, once they had reached the door, it slowly stood and then slowly and quietly crept back down the hall toward the bedroom.

This was definitely something to tell Feliciano about.

* * *

A/N: Yes, Romano was actually watching the Bad Touch Trio having an innocent conversation when he decided to throw all that stuff at them (about messing around with other peoples' love lives, but you know…) And France groping Spain, but that's part of a normal conversation for them… None of them have any concept of personal space, lol…

And Prussia-logic is confusing. There's too much awesomeness flying around.


	9. Chapter 9

**Rivalry**

**Part 9**

Heroes shouldn't run away.

America knew that, but he'd still done it. He'd just run out of England's house without another word, his mind breaking into little tiny pieces as he tried to comprehend what had just happened.

Okay, so England is dating Prussia.

Prussia is dating England.

It sounded messed up no matter what order you put it in. They could not be dating. It was actually starting to irritate him. Why wouldn't Iggy tell him about this if he _was _dating Prussia? He was practically the guy's only friend.

He wasn't sure why this had upset him so much. So what if Iggy and Prussia were sleeping together?

That instantly brought up some not-so-pleasant mental images. Of Iggy…with Prussia…

He shuddered. The albino bastard was probably a sadistic pervert; he still remembered training under him during the Revolutionary War. Those were not pleasant memories… Maybe Iggy didn't really want to be in a relationship with him but had been trapped due to some sort of event that he wasn't aware of… Maybe he needed a hero to save him! Since he was practically a damsel-in-distress anyway. He was short enough, at least.

He'd made his way back to his hotel room while going through these thoughts in his head and let himself into his room with his key, walking over to his bed and immediately plopping down.

"Hello, Alfred."

And the hero jumped up and screamed like a little girl. "GHOST!"

America was about to go after the ghost and defend himself…or cry and beg for mercy...whichever came first, when he realized that someone was sitting on the other bed watching him.

Someone who looked vaguely familiar.

"I'm Canada," the figure remarked when he recognized the familiar confused expression that he received from almost all of the other nations when he ran into them.

Canada. Canada… Oh! Canada!

"Oh, hi, Mattie!" America responded with a wide grin as he fell back onto his bed and grinned at his easily forgettable brother. "Didn't see you there?"

What a surprise. Canada forced a smile and nodded slightly, pulling his polar bear into his lap. Whose name he couldn't quite remember at the moment.

"Who?"

"I'm Canada."

America rolled over onto his stomach and stared at his brother, wondering what he'd say about the whole 'England' fiasco. "Hey, Mattie. You agree that heroes should always help damsels in distress, right?"

Canada flashed him a look that plainly read that he had no clue where in the world that could have possibly come from and probably didn't want to know. "I suppose…"

"Okay, so let's say that a certain nation—not anybody specific, just a nation—found out that another nation—again, not anybody specific—was going out with somebody that the first nation knew was totally bad news. What should I—I mean, the first nation, do?"

"You mean that you think that somebody's going out with somebody else that they shouldn't and you want to be a hero and make sure that they break up or whatever?"

America pouted. "It was hypothetical."

"Who's going out with someone you don't approve of?" He couldn't imagine which couple America would have a problem with. It wasn't like he was particularly close to most of the nations and the ones that he was close to were basically all single—

"Iggy is dating Prussia."

And the rug had just been yanked out from under his world. He froze in shock, horror flickering over his face as he stared at his brother. "Wha—what?"

America hadn't noticed his brother's shock and was still rambling. "I mean, this is _Iggy _we're talking about. Why in the world would Iggy be going out with someone like Prussia? I mean, he's creepy. He's got red eyes like those monster alien things from that one show I watched." That had kept him up for three days straight.

"E—eh…" Kumajiro glanced up at his master, who had stopped moving…and blinking…and possibly breathing…

Who was this person again?

"Ah, Alfred, are you sure about this, eh?" Canada questioned once he had managed to regain some semblance of normality. Gilbert was dating England? Since when had this happened?

"I went to Iggy's house earlier and found Prussia sitting in his kitchen. He said that they're been dating for centuries." He snorted and wrinkled his nose slightly. "Seriously, this doesn't make any sense."

"Ma—maybe he was playing a prank?"

America paused, thinking this through, and then nodded once. "Mm, maybe. Except he told me that England had a tattoo."

England had a tattoo?

Canada felt almost as confused about this as America had. But Gilbert had never mentioned that he was dating someone and he'd started to think—

He suddenly stood, his voice much stronger than usual. "We—we could ask someone else. Someone who would know for sure about this."

America looked a little surprised at his brother's sudden remark and how firm he seemed, but then nodded in agreement. "Who?"

"France. He'll definitely know."

* * *

A/N: Holy snapdragon! Updates galore today!! (Haha, wanna know why? Cuz I had a paper today that I was procrastinating on by writing chapters of this story. *facepalms at self*)

Oh, Canada… Poor little Canada. You're playing right into France's hands.

Wait, who was I talking about again?

And I love the fact that you can totally tie Prussia into the Revolutionary War. It makes me happy :) Although I only realized that like a couple months ago when rereading one of my historical fiction books and realizing "That's why I kept thinking that I'd heard of Prussia before!!"

Hmm, maybe someday I'll write a Revolutionary War fic…but then again, there are so many that I don't know if I'd be able to think of something original enough… Plus I have an Italian Renaissance one flickering through my head right now (huzzah for reading Machiavelli) and my demise of Rome one…and the unification of Italy. And a bunch others about various historical events… I feel like this summer is going to be a 'let's go to the library and read tons of history books' summer ;D


	10. Chapter 10

**Rivalry**

**Part 10**

"Potato bastard."

This was why peepholes had been invented. So that a person could look through them before they opened the door and therefore keep out unwanted visitors. Unfortunately, Germany hadn't thought to do so before opening the door to find probably the last person he'd ever want to see standing on his porch. "Good morning, Romano."

Surprisingly, he wasn't yelling at him yet. He'd actually sounded almost civil—if you could call referring to someone as 'potato bastard' civil.

"Is my brother here?"

And there was the question that would set off his rage. Germany just stood there for a moment, staring at the smaller Italian and wondering what sort of answer he should give. He could always lie and hope that Romano would take him at his word (unlikely) or he could say that yes, Feliciano was here and have to deal with the Italian's anger. "Umm…"

His decision was made by a yawning voice coming from behind him. "Ve~ nii-chan?"

Germany turned slightly to glance toward Italy, who was standing in the door to the kitchen, rubbing sleep from his eyes with the back of his hand. The image probably would have looked entirely innocent—after all, Italy slept over at his house all the time—if it weren't for the fact that he happened to be wearing one of Germany's shirts. Which was long enough on him to almost pass for a dress.

Germany mentally prepared himself for the upcoming explosion.

Italy didn't seem to notice the tension in the room and only yawned sleepily and stumbled forward, smiling wearily. "Ve~ I didn't know you were coming, nii-chan."

Romano's expression was quite plainly showing complete horror. Horror mixed with the beginnings of rage…

Here it came. Germany winced slightly in mental preparation.

And nothing happened.

Romano just stood there for a moment and then took a deep, shaky breath before turning to Germany with am impassive expression. "May I come inside?"

Something was wrong. Something was really wrong. Had somebody died? Somebody had to be dead. Although he had no idea who. Maybe something had happened to Spain? No…Romano probably would be comatose right now if something happened to him…

"Ah, of course." He stepped aside and watched Romano with a shocked expression as he merely walked inside, completely calm and relaxed, without pushing something over 'accidentally' or complaining about how it was too neat or saying anything degrading about his decorations.

Even Italy looked startled by his brother's actions. He stopped mid eye-rub and stared at his sibling as if he'd never seen him before.

"Ve~? Nii-chan?"

"I have something to speak with you about, Veneciano. Alone."

And now Italy looked scared. "V—ve? What's wrong? Is Spain-nii okay?"

First sign of the normal Romano. His eyes immediately flickered with irritation at Spain's name. "Yeah, that bastard is perfectly fine."

Germany wasn't sure if he wanted to leave Italy with his brother right now. He was definitely acting weird. Maybe he was so angry that he'd gone the completely opposite way, which could possibly mean that Italy might be in danger if they were left alone. "If you don't mind, I'd rather stay with Feliciano."

Romano glanced up, scowling slightly, but then his expression returned to disinterest and he shrugged slightly. "Fine, whatever, potato bastard."

Italy looked as if he were considering maybe calling for a shrink. "Are you sure you're okay, nii-chan? Would you like some pasta?"

"Sure, I guess."

"Doitsu, will you come and help me make it?" Italy turned on him with his biggest, widest should-be-trademarked puppy eyes.

Not that he really needed them, as Germany was pretty sure they both wanted to talk right now without Romano hearing them.

"Of course, Feli."

They crossed into the kitchen, not receiving one evil glare or furious curse from Romano. He even closed the door behind them without getting anything more than a slight sigh.

As soon as the door was closed, Italy jumped on him, his eyes wide in panic. "Ve~! Doitsu! Somebody kidnapped nii-chan and made a clone! We have to go save the real nii-chan!"

"Now, Feli, I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation for thi—"

Italy was not to be consoled. He'd clung to Germany's shirt and was now sobbing uncontrollably into the fabric. Which meant that Germany would have to change after this. "Ve~! What if they hurt him, Doitsu? What if they have the real nii-chan locked away? Or what if he's dead!" And here he started crying even louder.

Great. Now he had to deal with a hysterical Italy on top of trying to figure out what in the world was wrong with his brother. "Feli, Feli, calm down." He rubbed at his back, attempting to figure out exactly how you were supposed to comfort someone… He thought he was starting to get the hang of it, but it still felt supremely awkward for him.

It seemed to be working, though, since Italy's sobs were starting to quiet. "V—ve~" he finally mumbled in a rather pathetic tone.

"Your brother isn't dead. He's sitting right out there. Something must have happened. Maybe he's finally learning how to control his temper." As if that blessed day would ever really come.

Italy glanced up after a few more moments and smiled slightly. "Ve~ Doitsu…"

Germany was definitely getting better at reading Italy. He hesitated for a moment, then leaned down and brushed his lips against Italy's, drawing him into a sweet kiss.

Completely forgetting about the fact that his brother happened to be in the other room.

Until they were interrupted by a rather loud clearing of the throat from the doorway.

They hurriedly broke away, Germany turning to see Romano standing in the entrance to the kitchen, arms crossed over his chest, but no weapons in his hand. And not really glaring, more giving them both a hard look…

Okay, maybe Italy was right and Romano had been cloned.

Although if he was, Germany was starting to think he'd prefer to keep this Romano around.

"I need to talk to you, Feli, if you're quite finished."

Italy stared at his brother in complete shock for a few more seconds, probably waiting for him to suddenly start screaming and throwing things and all those things that Romano would usually do whenever he saw him with Germany. When he didn't retaliate in anyway, Italy glanced back up at Germany and then followed slowly. "Ve~ okay, nii-chan."

Germany followed them into the room, taking a seat next to Italy on the couch as Romano plopped down into his favourite armchair.

"Those three idiots are plotting to help get America and England together."

He said it so matter-of-factly that both Italy and Germany were shocked into silence. For a long while, Italy just stared at him before a bright grin broke out over his face. "Really? That's so sweet! America and England would be such a cute couple…"

So that's why Prussia hadn't been bothering him as much recently. Germany had been greatly enjoying the peace and quiet around his house—when it wasn't being broken by a hyperactive Italian, at least—but had been starting to worry that his brother was plotting something.

Remembering Prussia, France, and Spain's plan to bring him and Italy together definitely alerted him to the fact that this could not end up well.

Italy was still gushing about how that was cute and sweet and all that, while Romano was starting to look annoyed. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. I want you to help me."

"Help you what?" Italy leaned forward slightly, obviously intrigued.

Now Romano was starting to blush. He hesitated, opening his mouth a couple times as if trying to think of something to say. Then he turned away slightly and mumbled after a minute. "No—nothing. Just…I wanted to…you know…speed things up." His head immediately jerked up at this and he hurried to add, "Not for those two oblivious idiots! Just…Spagna's always with France and Prussia now and… Not that I care or anything! They're just going to end up causing me trouble!" He crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at them as if daring them to accuse him of acting soft.

Italy immediately squealed. "Veee~! Nii-chan is so cute! Ve~! Of course I'll help nii-chan!" He beamed toward Germany. "And Doitsu will help his nii-chan too, right?"

That was not what he had been thinking, but it was hard to say no to that smile. So he just grunted and crossed his own arms over his chest.

Italy took that as agreement. "Yay! Okay…" And now his expression suddenly changed. To something much more calculating and devious. An expression that Germany had only seen a few times and had grown to fear. "Ve~ then what's the plan, nii-chan?"

* * *

A/N: Romano is so cute when he's being deredere. And when he's being tsuntsun. He's just cute in general. And him being nice is almost as much a sign of the Apocalypse as America refusing hamburgers. Although he was only being nice to get his brother to agree to help him, so at least he should soon return to normal. Which is good. Writing him as being reasonable and not 'I'm going kill you for just looking at my brother the wrong way' scares me a little bit.

By the way, not that this is at all related, but I was reading today about tea (don't ask, I don't know) and there are lots of fun historical facts about it. ;D For example, tea can be credited with starting the Opium Wars. Quoting TVtropes (epic site of epicness) "Buying tea from China was expensive, as it had to be exchanged for silver. In response to this, British traders found something that they could export back to China at a profit- Opium. When the Chinese government tried to stop the massive addiction problem by banning the trade, Britain invaded, seized the ports and enabled the trade to continue. Twice."

Do not get between Iggy and his tea.

And all of that had NOTHING to do with the chapter whatsoever. I'm just really, really having a craving for tea even thought I just finished a rather large mug of Earl Grey and just had a conversation about tea with some people and was reading articles about tea… And watched a youtube video about tea and yes… Today is a pointless day of gaining tea-knowledge.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: This is a reupload of Part 11. It was brought to my attention that a sentence was lost somehow in the transfer from my computer to this site (I have no clue how, actually...very weird) and since it was rather important statement, I decided to reupload it with the missing sentence replaced.

* * *

**Rivalry**

**Part 11**

France was pretty sure things could not have worked out better if he had planned things this way.

"Amérique! Mathieu!" He answered the door with his usual flourish, beaming brightly at the two younger nations standing on his front porch.

Really, they were making things so much easier for him than he'd expected. He'd been planning on calling America, asking him to meet him at some restaurant or something (not McDonald's; anywhere but McDonald's). Instead, he'd come right to him without him having to do a thing! Although having Canada come as well was a bit of a surprise. He stepped aside, holding the door open while flashing them a bright grin. "What a pleasant surprise! Come in!"

"Ah, sorry for not calling ahead," Canada hurriedly apologized, stepping inside and wiping his feet carefully on the welcome mat. Which America completely ignored. And just barged in, tracking mud onto the floor in a way that would have sent England on a three-hour rant and Germany off to find his cleaning supplies (which knowing him would be sitting about two feet away).

France didn't seem to care at all. He just continued to grin and followed America toward the living room. "Ah, mon cher, what brings you here? It's been so long since either of you came to visit."

"We wanted to talk with you about England."

France beamed even more brightly. Really, things definitely could not have worked out better. "Ah, pourquoi? Is something wrong with mon petit Angleterre?"

America flushed slightly as he walked into the living room and eyed France's couch warily. He wasn't sure exactly how intelligent it would be to actually sit on it. Who knew what could have happened on that couch?

Canada seemed to have a similar thought, as he stepped inside and just stood against the wall, hugging Kumajiro to his chest as he watched France saunter inside and fall into his armchair.

France rested his chin on his hands, grinning up at the two younger nations. He couldn't help but notice how irritated America looked. Really…they hadn't even done anything yet and already the poor boy looked as if he wanted to tear someone's head off. Particularly is that someone happened to be an albino ex-nation whose named started with a 'G'.

France vaguely hoped that Prussia had thought through where to hide out after this, as he was pretty sure that both America and England would be thirsting for his blood when they found out exactly who had been involved.

He'd already booked tickets to Barcelona. Spain's territory was quite lovely this time of year.

"Is something wrong, Amérique?" he questioned as innocently as possible.

"N—no… I was just…I mean, I heard…" He stopped and took a deep breath, then burst out all at once, "Prussia-told-me-that-he-and-Iggy-are-dating!!" And then stopped, his cheeks turning slightly pink in embarrassment.

"Ah?" France quirked an eyebrow at him, as if confused. "You were not aware of the fact?"

Both America and Canada looked as shocked as if France had just told them that he was, in fact, still a virgin. Then America exclaimed, "It's true!?"

"But Gilbert would have told me…" Canada started to argue, before he realized what he'd started to say and hurriedly quieted, crushing Kumajiro tighter against his chest.

…Well that was interesting…

"Ah, oui, Angleterre and Prusse have been together for centuries. Not that Angleterre would ever admit the fact. You know how he is." He waved his hand in a dismissive fashion. "But oui, it is true."

Now America looked even more homicidal, glaring at France in irritation. "But, Iggy— Why the fuck wouldn't he tell _me_?"

France forced a surprised expression. "But why would he tell you? I mean, it's not as if he would have any real need to do so."

"But—"

"It has always kind of worried me, though," he continued, completely ignoring America's attempts at interjecting. "Petit Angleterre. I sometimes wonder if he and Prusse are really meant for each other. They've gotten into the most awful fights sometimes." He motioned toward his eye as he continued—he'd come up with this part last night and was rather proud of it—"I remember once when Angleterre and Prusse got into a fight. Angleterre had a black eye for almost a straight month after that."

Both America and Canada looked horrified at that, although America's expression hurriedly twisted into rage while Canada just stared at him in shock and disbelief.

"But Gilbert wouldn't…"

"I'm going to fucking kill that bastard!" America leapt up from his seat. "You don't hurt the damsel in distress, bastard!"

Damsel in distress? He'd have to save that note for later. He was now having trouble deciding which of the two nations to focus on. America was acting just as expected; this would be almost too easy. However, he was definitely intrigued by Canada's reactions.

He made a mental note to keep an eye on this surprising little twist.

"Ah, mon ami. Prusse didn't mean to hurt Angleterre. He just can be a bit wild sometimes, non?"

America wasn't listening. He was now pacing back and force in front of the couch, mumbling angrily to himself.

Hm, maybe that had been a little too much?

He supposed he could book another seat on the flight to Barcelona if he had to.

"If this were one of your movies, Amérique, then it would be quite obvious what you should do, non?"

America paused mid-rant and glanced up toward the other nation. "Huh?"

"Well, if Angleterre is the 'damsel-in-distress'…" He was definitely not letting England live that nickname down. "Then the hero should go and rescue him, right?"

And now America had stopped and was just standing there, his expression suddenly pensive.

Much. Much too easy.

"Ye—yes… Yes he would…" And suddenly his furious expression broke and he grinned widely. "Yes! And I'm the hero, so that means I should go save Iggy!"

He was almost a little disappointed. He hadn't even had to come out with his photographs that neither England nor Prussia knew existed. Those two were so much fun when they were drunk together…

"Bu—but, Francis…" Canada stuttered…

Before he could finish, however, America had jumped up and grabbed his brother's hand. "Come on, Mattie! You can be my sidekick on Operation 'Rescue Iggy from the freaky albino creep!'"

"Bu—but Alf—"

He didn't get a chance to finish that, as America immediately tugged him to the door. France just stood there for a while, grinning to himself as he pulled his cell phone out and punched in a quick message.

_Bring Idiot #2 to the restaurant. Idiot #1 is on his way._

_

* * *

_A/N: So France was being a total bastard in this chapter. I feel bad for Canada.

Speaking of Canada… so in my head!canon, France and Prussia can see Canada pretty much all of the time. America and England can see him too, but it takes them a bit longer (and England has a tendency to think he's America for a few seconds before he realizes that he isn't) and then pretty much everybody else either can't see him or mistakes him for America.

But if Canada is actually being assertive, then everybody can see him. Or if somebody draws their attention to him.


	12. Chapter 12

**Rivalry**

**Part 12**

"Why are we here again?"

Prussia was startled by the question, as he'd been staring at the menu for the past few minutes and wondering why the hell everything had to be written in Italian. The only words in Italian he'd managed to pick up were the obscenities that Romano yelled at Spain all of the time. "Ah, what?"

England was watching him suspiciously, one large eyebrow raised as he folded his napkin and placed it in his lap. "I asked why we're here again. You're not the type to just suddenly invite someone to eat out at a fancy restaurant with you. And you're definitely not the type of person to actually remember to make reservations ahead of time." He rested his elbows on the table and leaned his chin on his fists. "So spill. What's going on?"

Prussia sighed. At least he'd thought to come up with an explanation ahead of time, but really? Why couldn't England be so observant when he was dealing with a certain loud-mouthed American? He wouldn't have had to get dressed up in a fucking suit and tie if England wasn't so deeply entrenched in the river of denial.

"I lost a bet with Francis."

England gave a little sigh of understanding at that and leaned back slightly. "Why doesn't that surprise me? And the terms were?"

"I'd get all dressed up in this shit and go to some fancy place that he chose. I figured that you were the best victim to drag into this since you can just imagine how it would go with anyone else…"

England grinned in amusement at the idea, probably mentally running through a list of the other nations and putting them in his place. "You three come up with the oddest bets, although this one is at least positive. Maybe you'll finally learn some manners."

Prussia snorted and shook his head, reaching up to his neck and unloosening his tie. "Don't count on that."

England smiled again at the statement and shook his head slightly, grabbing his own menu and looking through the options. Apparently actually understanding what he was reading.

Prussia barely paid attention as their waiter came up and took their wine order. Since he'd prefer beer, but he doubted that that sort of order would fly here. So he just half-listened as England and the waiter went on for a while about different types of wine. He vaguely wondered what Artie would say if he mentioned that he sounded like France… He didn't feel like dying now, so he'd resist it. Somehow.

While England was distracted, he slipped his cell phone from his pocket and checked the text messages. One from France and one from Spain…

France's… _We're almost there. Idiot #2 is falling right into our trap…_

And Spain's… _I C U! U look so CUTE!!!_

For a very long time, Prussia just stared at the screen in shock. Then he sighed. And how the fuck was that idiot still alive?He glanced around for a few seconds before noticing Spain sitting at a nearby booth, grinning brightly at Prussia, and now waving excitedly.

This was the sort of situation in which you pretended that you had no idea who that crazy person over there was. He turned back to England. "So, anything interesting happen today, Artie?"

England paused, frowning slightly at the question. "Well…kind of. Alfred came over…"

"And since when is that interesting?" Prussia snorted, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms behind his head. "It's only interesting when the awesome me comes over."

England rolled his eyes, but chose to ignore the egotistical statement. "Well, it was just kind of odd. He came in and I was yelling at the bloody frog on the phone… He got bored because he's a twit like that and went into the other room to make his vile coffee beverage. Then I come in after a few minutes and he was just acting…weird…" He hesitated and then continued after a moment, "He even refused a hamburger, which let me know that something was seriously wrong with him. So I leave the room again and then when I come back in, he's gone."

Wow. His story had messed with America's head that badly? Awesome.

"Hmm…Maybe he found some of the leftovers in your fridge. I'm sure that would ruin anyone's appetite."

And England threw a fork at him.

Which he managed to duck. Barely.

"Hey, I thought I was the one who was supposed to be learning manners."

England just scowled at him, then turned back to his menu as if he hadn't just attempted to stab his friend in the face with a fork.

At least it wasn't a knife.

Prussia was more than thankful when the waiter arrived with the wine, as he managed to distract England from the men now being seated only a few tables away.

Except…Why were there three men?

For a moment, Prussia froze in surprise. France was distracting America by invading his personal space, effectively keeping him from noticing the other familiar inhabitants of the restaurant. But the other nation, who followed the two at a slight distance, had met his eyes almost as soon as he had stepped into the restaurant.

What the fuck was Mattie doing here?

Prussia just stared at the other male in shock, watching as Canada's eyes twitched across the table to where England was conversing with the waiter. He could see the Canadian's expression fall as he clutched at his chest, where he'd usually be holding Kumajiro if it weren't completely against the law to bring a polar bear into a restaurant.

Shit. Shit. Shit. France had definitely not mentioned this part.

* * *

A/N: Aw, poor Canada.

But now the real fun begins.

Well, almost. We're very very close to utter insanity. ;D

Actually, the next chapter is the beginning of utter insanity, but for a slightly different reason.

So, for all the many many many many many people who have asked/requested…

Yes, there will be a PruCan TMAMT story after this one is finished. Still trying to think of a title (probably in French since I already used German, lol). The plot is also being planned… But yes, they will be the next couple. Since I'm pretty much bashing you over the head with foreshadowing…


	13. Chapter 13

**Rivalry**

**Part 13**

"I am not wearing that."

"Ve~ but nii-chan~ You're the one who wanted to help."

"I take it back. I don't want to help."

"Nii-chan, just put it on!"

Germany was attempting to ignore the loud conversation coming from the storage closet, but was finding it rather impossible. He finally just sighed and glanced toward the kitchen's other occupants. Who were all staring at him in a mixture of confusion, horror, and interest…

He would never have expected that he'd someday be involved in the takeover of a gourmet Italian restaurant.

"Get off of me! I said I wasn't wearing that!"

"Ve~ nii-chan!"

There was the sound of something falling and smashing. Multiple somethings falling and smashing. He automatically started to move toward the door, then paused, not sure that he wanted to see what they were doing.

The scuffling continued for a couple minutes and then finally it quieted. He waited, hoping that they hadn't killed each other.

"Ve~! You look so cute, nii-chan!"

And apparently Romano had lost the battle…

After a few seconds, the door swung open and Italy bounced out, beaming as he hurried over to Germany and clung to his arm. "Doi—I mean, Ludwig! Look at nii-chan! Isn't he cute?"

Germany hesitated for a moment, and then gave in, turning toward the closet. He almost choked to death on the oxygen he'd started breathing in.

Romano was standing there, arms crossed over his chest, cheeks bright red in embarrassment, expression reading 'if you say anything about this EVER, I will kill you…many times over…'

Well now he knew why he'd been protesting so loudly.

He was wearing one of the server's uniforms. Which wouldn't have been a problem except for the fact that it was a _female _server's uniform. Black flats, nude stockings, a black knee-length pencil skirt, and white button-up shirt with a black vest. Veneciano had even brought—now he knew what had been in the knapsack he'd gone to Hungary's house to borrow—a wig that was a few shades lighter than the older Italian's normal hair colour, twisted into tight ringlets and held back with a black ribbon.

"I'm going to kill you, Feli. I am going to kill you right after I kill stupid Spa—Antonio." He glared at the humans who were almost all gaping at him. "Get back to work, bastards!"

They obeyed, not wanting to risk the anger of the irritable, cross-dressing Italian.

Italy pulled a camera from his pocket, one which looked suspiciously similar to one that Germany had seen a certain Hungarian woman carrying around before, and snapped a photo before Romano could react. "Nii-chan looks adorable! Except…" He suddenly frowned. "Ve~ we forgot something."

Romano looked as if homicide was sounding more and more appealing to him. "What the fuck did we forget?"

Italy paused for a moment, and then slowly brought his fingers up to his hair and motioned toward the curled strand that stuck out from his head. "Ve~ they'll recognize your curl if you don't hide it, nii-chan."

Germany immediately flushed, coughing nervously as he turned and attempted to ignore their conversation by counting the ceiling tiles. Eins. Zwei. Drei… He definitely did not want to hear them talking about their hair curls…

"Fuck no!"

"Nii-chan~ you have to hide it! Otherwise they'll know it's you."

"I am not fucking trying to hide that fucking hair…"

The humans were watching them again, looking rather confused by the conversation. Lucky.

"Doits—Ludwig~!" Veneciano whined, reaching over and tugging on his arm. "You have hair gel, right? Right?"

…Well, yes. You never knew when your hair might get mussed. He didn't want to end up looking like _Prussia_, after all.

He sighed and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small jar of hair gel. "Don't use it all up, Fel—"

Italy grabbed it without bothering to listen to him. "Ve~! Don't worry, Doitsu!"

Germany sighed and shook his head slightly. He was rather happy now about the fact that Italy had adopted Japan's name for him instead of actually using the Italian name. He had a tendency to forget that when you were around humans, you couldn't use your country name.

"Here, nii-chan! I'll help—"

"You are not helping anything!" Romano screeched furiously, grabbing the tub from Italy's hand and flashing both him and Germany a furious glare. "Fine, I'll do it. And you'd better not listen, fucking potato bastard pervert…"

Like he'd want to. He wasn't Hungary.

Romano walked back into the storage closet, slamming the door behind him with much more force than necessary. Italy watched it for a moment, then spun around and darted toward the stoves, where pots of pasta were boiling. "Ve~! Why isn't anyone making the pasta?"

The humans, who had all been staring at them in confusion, suddenly seemed to remember their jobs and hurriedly returned to work, apparently deciding to actually obey the order their boss had given before he locked himself into his office and refused to come out.

Germany had to admit, even if he didn't agree with the tactics that Romano and Veneciano used, they had been incredibly effective. They'd burst into the kitchen about a half hour ago, Veneciano immediately squealing about pasta and would have run around from pot to pot if it weren't for Romano grabbing his collar and choking him to a stop. Then Romano had demanded they see the boss.

The man had come out, furious about the commotion. He'd asked why they were in his kitchen and Veneciano had immediately asked if they could meet with him in his office. Fifteen minutes later and they left, the man staring at the two nations as if he'd just seen a ghost.

Then, at a not-so-gentle nudge from Romano, he'd stepped forward and hurriedly proclaimed in a shaky voice, "Ah, these people are very important guests of the establishment. You're to do whatever they say. I'll be in my office for the rest of the night." And then he'd turned and almost ran back into his office.

"Don't forget your daughter's birthday this year, Signor!" Italy had called back. "She gets very sad when you don't send her a present!"

And the door had slammed at a volume that was almost Romano-worthy.

"Fucking…Spagna…Fucking…Antonio…Fuck…"

The door to the storage closet had swung open and now Romano stumbled out, breathing heavily, his face a bright red colour, his entire body trembling slightly.

But the curl effectively hidden.

"Ve~" Italy jumped at him, pushing a notepad and pen into his hands. "Here! Now you can go wait on them! Make sure to smile!"

Romano's eyes flickered over to a row of chef's knives, but then seemed to decide that it would take too much energy to go over and grab one so he could murder his brother. "Fine. Fuck."

"Ve~! And Doitsu will go and sit down nearby and I'll help in here with the pasta!" He bounced in place and clapped happily. "This is going to be fun!"

And Romano reconsidered his last thought… A knife would definitely be worth the effort.

* * *

A/N: So, I am so happy right now. I'm totally spazzing and flailing my arms like a crazy person. (Well, not really, because it'd be hard to type if I was doing that…) But that's not the point…

200+ reviews!!!!!

Ahhh, you guys are amazing!!! I seriously never imagined when I first came on this site that I'd ever get that sort of recognition. GAH!!! *blushes and stammers like a tsundere Iggy*

So yeah, you guys rock!! Hearts and huggles and love!!

Okay, now that that is done… Haha, now we've got all our pieces on the board ;D And Romano's in a skirt… Mwahaha xD *rubs hands together evilly*

All right, so I actually have a question for you guys, particularly for those in Europe. I'm making plans right now for traveling through France, Italy, and Spain in April and I was wondering if anybody would have any advice on how to do this in the cheapest way possible. Cheap places to stay, the cheapest way to travel, all that. I'm not sure exactly where I'll be going, tentatively Paris, Barcelona, Milan, Florence, and Rome. So yeah, any advice would be loved :) Thanks!!


	14. Chapter 14

**Rivalry**

**Part 14**

He'd finally noticed.

Key word in that sentence being 'finally'. France had been starting to think that he'd have to not-so-subtly exclaim, "Hey look, isn't that England over there right now? What a not-at-all-planned coincidence."

Thankfully, America had finally noticed the two of them. Probably because Canada's eyes hadn't left them since he walked in.

"Shit." And he apparently was not happy about it.

"Quoi?" France had always been rather proud of his acting skills. He now feigned complete confusion. "What is it, mon ami?"

America's expression had twisted into a furious grimace. "They're sitting right over there."

France made a great show of turning around to glance at them, catching Prussia's eyes in the process and receiving a rather annoyed glare. He just smirked back before returning to the table. "So they are, mon cher. What an odd coincidence."

Anyone else would have probably been suspicious at this point. However, most people were not an incredibly jealous America, who was nowhere close to being in the state of mind to pick up on suspicious circumstances. Actually, he looked, quite frankly, as if he'd love to stand up right now and wring Prussia's neck.

Hmm, it probably was good that Canada had come along. He might need assistance in restraining the American if Prussia did everything exactly as he'd written in the notebook.

France leaned forward slightly, distracting America from his angry glares at the albino. "Don't forget, mon ami, what I said. You must rescue the damsel-in-distress."

America paused, hesitated, and then nodded. "Yes…"

"Now, how should we go about this?" He tapped a finger against his chin, over-exaggerating his pensive expression. Unfortunately, England hadn't seemed to notice them yet, so he couldn't really start his side of the plan.

Still, at least Prussia had noticed.

And he was now leaning closer to England, refilling his wine glass while murmuring something under his breath that apparently amused the other nation, as he started to laugh.

And America steamed.

"They seem to be having a good time," France pointed out unnecessarily. "It almost seems like a shame to break them up."

"Iggy is way too good for that freaky sadistic bastard."

He seemed to have said it automatically, without realizing what exactly he was saying. As further evidenced a few seconds later, when he seemed to finally think about what he'd said. He turned about five shades of red and hurriedly began stuttering, "I—I just meant that since he's the damsel-in-distress he should be going out with someone not so creepy and..and…"

"Like who, mon cher?" France practically purred. "Who would be a better choice for Angleterre to date? Perhaps Kiku? I know that he and Angleterre are quite close."

"No!" America hurriedly exclaimed, catching the eyes of a few random people in the restaurant. Although not England's, as he was still talking with Prussia and not really paying attention to anything around him. "I mean…Kiku is cool and stuff, but he and Iggy would just spend all their time talking about tea and books and boring stuff like that…"

France's grin only widened. "You don't think Angleterre would enjoy dating someone who shares interests with him?"

America was definitely flailing now. It was actually rather cute. "I didn't say that, but—but—he needs someone more…more…"

"Hey, you ready for me to take your orders, bas—I mean…valued customers?"

And that effectively cut off that conversation. France and America both turned toward the interruption, Canada ignoring everyone in favour of tearing his napkin into shreds while staring at Prussia and England's table.

A waitress was waiting at the end of their table, scowling slightly as she eyed them, her notebook open and pen poised over the blank page.

"Ah—" France glanced toward the menu that neither of them had even bothered to open. "We'll just have the house special?" Whatever that might be.

"Appetizer? Wine?"

He glanced toward America, who just shrugged. "Ah…" Might as well turn on that infamous French charm. He leaned forward, grabbed the hand not holding the notebook, and then brushed his lips against the soft wrist. "Why don't you surprise us?"

He glanced up to see that she had turned a shade of red that could almost rival one of Antonio's tomatoes. She also looked as if she were considering hitting him over the head with her notebook.

"How about," he continued, refusing to release her hand, even though she was tugging back on it, "you come back with me to my place when you're done with work? You're looking qui—Ow!"

And she _had_ decided to hit him over the head with her notebook. Not that it hurt too much, but she also kicked him in the shin in the same motion. "Drop dead!"

And then she'd spun around and marched back towards the kitchen.

Wow…she had a lot of power in those legs of hers.

Now that _had _managed to capture England's attention, as well as the attention of most of the other restaurant's occupants. And they were now all staring at France, who was rubbing at his leg and wincing slightly.

"What the hell is that frog doing here?" England muttered, staring at France in a mixture of horror and confusion. And he was with America… What the fuck? Why were America and France together? Especially somewhere like here.

Prussia pretended to have just noticed him as well, groaning slightly as he focused on the man. "Oh fuck, don't tell me that he decided to show up to actually make sure I did it?"

Now England turned back to Prussia. "What are you talking about?"

Prussia sighed, rubbing at his silver hair with a hand while shaking his head. "Okay, so I didn't tell you about the whole bet. The bet was actually that I'd—well—not only dress up like this, but that I'd actually—well, take a date here…"

"A date?! You didn't tell me that this was supposed to be a date!" He moved to stand up, but Prussia hurriedly stopped him by grabbing his arm and tugging him down.

"Hey, don't go. If you walk out on me, then I lose and I'll have to do something even worse than this. I didn't think that France would actually show to make sure I did it."

England continued to stare at Prussia for a few more minutes, thinking. So France was here with America to make sure that Prussia actually went through with taking him on a date. So…that meant that France had decided to take America on a date too?

Since when were France and America together? He'd thought America had more common sense than that…

Unless that was why he'd been acting so strangely?

Ugh, why in the world had they suddenly shown up? He'd actually been having a good time. It wasn't often that someone took him out to a nice restaurant (usually he'd get dragged against his will to McDonald's by America) and he'd actually been enjoying himself. Prussia was always an entertaining person to spend time with…it was easy to forget about anything that was bothering you when you were around him.

And now his two biggest headaches were sitting _together_, right across the restaurant from him.

"All right," he sighed, settling back in his seat. Fine, if they wanted to try to ruin his nice dinner, then he'd just ignore them and show them that he could have an enjoyable time, even if they were trying to sabotage him. "Now, what were we talking about before we were so rudely interrupted?"

* * *

A/N: Wow, so I really don't have anything to say right here. Ummm…

So everything is starting to go a little bit crazy. And Romano is adorable in a skirt. If I could draw, I'd totally draw him in his outfit, but alas, I cannot. Sigh.

Reviews are lovely :D


	15. Chapter 15

**Rivalry**

**Part 15**

He hoped that fucking bastard had a bruise the size of Russia after that. Fucking bastard trying to hit on him… Stupid Feli making him wear a skirt. Why did _he _have to be the waitress? Why not the stupid potato bastard?

…That mental image was going to give him nightmares for the rest of his life.

Okay, so why not Feli?

Because he'd probably do something stupid and give the whole plan away…

Fuck.

And things just got better and better. Because he walked over to the next table, still fuming, and was halfway through the question of "What do you want, idiot?" when he realized that he was looking down at a very startled…and very very lecherous-looking Spain.

Shi—

And he was suddenly pulled down into the booth, his mouth crushed by Spain's, his notebook falling onto the table, the pen bouncing onto the floor.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He should probably be pissed about this, but it was hard to think clearly about that when Spain had him pulled down onto his lap, his hands a whirlwind on his body, his tongue halfway down his throat.

Damn, if this was what happened when Spain saw him cross-dressing, maybe he should do it more often.

He did not just think that.

"Ah, Spagna!" He hurriedly broke away once he'd managed to mentally process the fact that they were in the middle of a restaurant. A gourmet restaurant. With the potato bastard sitting only a few tables away and Prussia, England, America, and France (particularly France) sitting close enough to see the table without much trouble.

He hurriedly glanced over at those two tables. Thankfully America and France were in the middle of some conversation and hadn't noticed and Prussia and England were also conversing too intimately for anyone to notice the impromptu make-out session.

"Lovi~" he whined back, his fingers sliding along his back and down to press him farther into his lap. Then his mouth was right near his ear, tickling his skin. "May I ask what my lovely little Lovi is doing here dressed like this?"

He couldn't really remember what he was doing here… All he could really concentrate on was the fact that Spain's voice was much lower and huskier and assertive than he was used to hearing and it was sending shivers down his back.

"Ah…nothing…" He attempted to pull himself backwards, but found that way effectively cut off by Spain's arms tightening around his waist.

"Nothing~?"

"Look…" He leaned closer, their chests almost brushing as he hurriedly whispered, "Obviously I don't want anybody to recognize me, bastard, so don't ruin this whole thing for me, okay?"

"Why? What are you doing?"

"I—" He blushed slightly, glancing over at the others quickly. "I overheard you guys talking and Feli decided that he wanted to help, but I said that there was no way we were helping you idiots so we decided on our own plan."

Spain grinned. "Ah, Lovi wants to help with the matchmaking? How cute~" He slowly retracted his arms, his smile widening as he eyed the younger male appreciatively. "All right, I won't tell on you. Just as long as you promise to wear that outfit home tonight."

Romano immediately blushed even brighter. "Pervert."

He just grinned back unapologetically and picked his menu up from where it had fallen onto the floor. "Mm, so…why don't you just pick something for me? I'm sure the pretty little waitress knows what I like."

He blushed again, brushing at a strand of hair that had fallen into place and shivering slightly as he felt something rub against the curl again.

You have a plan, Lovino. You cannot grab Spagna and drag him into the storage closet, no matter how much you want to.

Not that he wanted to…

Okay, yes, he wanted to. He'd admit that one.

"Sure, whatever." He picked up the menu and then spun around, catching the potato bastard watching him. Who apparently had seen the entire thing, as he flushed about five shades of red when their eyes met.

Romano immediately responded by flashing him a look that plainly read 'say anything and I'll kill you', then headed back to the kitchen.

Where he was greeted with an armful of Feli.

Veneciano was really lucky that he was used to his exuberant greetings. Any normal person would have dropped him. "Nii-chan! Nii-chan! We've been having a pasta lesson!"

A what?

He stood there for a moment, ignoring his brother's bouncing and giggling about something or other. Instead, he glanced around to see that all of the cooks, assistants, and most of the servers were standing in front of various stoves facing one central stove upon which a pot of pasta was boiling.

You had to be kidding…

"Ve~ okay! Now we get to move on to how to make Alfredo sauce!" Veneciano skipped back to the central station, grinning brightly at all of his 'pupils' before he began to chirp out instructions. Immediately twenty humans began to follow, their movements mirroring him in extreme reverence.

"Feliciano! You can't just have everybody in the kitchen making the same thing! I just got all of these orders!" He flipped through the notebook, revealing the pages of orders. Okay, so technically he'd only gotten five tables of orders, but he'd had to work hard for those five tables… Plus he'd gotten hit on by a French pervert at one and jumped at another.

"Ve~ but Lovino~ I couldn't just refuse to teach them. It's important that they learn the best way to make Fettuccine Alfredo if they want to make their customers happy." He frowned slightly, staring at his pupils, and then beamed again. "Ve~ I know! Just give everybody Fettuccine Alfredo!~ It's a yummy pasta!"

Surprisingly, none of the humans argued. What in the world had Feli done to them? They were watching him as if he were some kind of pasta god.

Romano sighed in irritation. But then again, he didn't care if people actually got what they ordered… "Fine. Whatever. Just hurry up and make it so I can get back out there. Oh, except…" He hesitated and then motioned toward one of the younger humans, who moved over rather reluctantly, eyeing him as if he were afraid that he was going to hit him or something.

"Look," and he flushed slightly as he shifted his weight nervously between his feet. "Um…Where do you keep the tomatoes?"

* * *

A/N: Haha ;D Spagna…

So, I could not put Lovi into a skirt without having Spain react… And of course he'd recognize his Lovi no matter what he wore xD

And Feli is the God of Pasta…You know it's true.

In other news, I have a bit of a dilemma. As last night I had an absolutely marvelous Spamano dream (Seriously, what's with me having dreams about fictional characters? I can't remember the last time I had a normal dream) and then spent a lot of today writing down as much as I could remember in outline form.

My problem is that I now really really want to write it. But…it'd be long…and I'm already working on 2 multi-chapter fics. *sighs* I hate having more than 2 projects at a time, as I tend to start updating one faster than the others… (Part of why Tomatita's taking a while to update…although it has more to do with the fact that I'm attempting to figure out how to write certain characters that I haven't written before to put in the new chapter…)

So, my question is…would you prefer that I just focus on Rivalry and Tomatita (and the PruCan one once Rivalry is done) and wait until I finish 2 of them so I stay with 2 at a time OR would you not mind if I work on 3 and you may just have more sporadic updating? It's a different genre from the others too, less comedy and more adventure/romance (although there is still comedy, especially in the first scene, lol). Ummm, and it's Spamano…

Anyway, tell me what you think and then I'll think more about it.

Love you guys :D


	16. Chapter 16

**Rivalry**

**Part 16**

"Look at them over there…stupid creepy red-eyed freak… I bet he's just trying to act all fancy 'cause he's trying to get into Iggy's pants."

France couldn't remember the last time he'd been so amused. "Shouldn't you give him the benefit of the doubt, mon ami? Even if he has told me multiple times that England's the best fuck he's ever had…" Pause for dramatic effect, "Especially when tied up…" And watch the fireworks. For a moment, America didn't respond, unless you counted the red that immediately overtook his face as a response. Then he started to move to stand up, his expression absolutely furious.

Unfortunately for France's amusement and America's revenge, he was interrupted by the same waitress from earlier, as she stepped over to the table with a tray of meals. "Bon appetit, asshole."

France stared down at his meal for a moment, then glanced toward America's and Canada's—Canada hadn't even bothered to attempt an order so he'd just ordered another one. Not that his poor little ex-colony looked as if he'd be enjoying it anytime soon.

"This isn't what we ord—"

"Accident in the kitchen. Explosion. Only thing not destroyed was the Fettucine Alfredo." And she was immediately gone, crossing toward England and Prussia's table and setting their plates in front of them, just pausing long enough to give them the same story before heading toward Spain's table.

France eyed the plate for a moment, but then shrugged before picking up his fork. Too bad she'd interrupted. He wanted to see America make a scene.

He'd relaxed somewhat, apparently still possessing enough control to realize that beating someone to a bloody pulp in the middle of a restaurant would probably not be a good idea. Still, the looks he kept flashing Prussia were quite plainly expressing his anger.

France grinned and then slowly slipped his cell phone from his pocket and texted under the table to Spain: _€20 America's up in 10 mins_.

The response was quick: _5 ;D_

France grinned and watched them again. Prussia actually looked like he was enjoying this… And soon he'd be putting the next part of their plan into effect.

~.~.~

"And then, Francis completely flips out. 'My face! My beautiful face!' Or at least, I figure that's what he was saying. He's going off in French about it. Honestly, you'd have thought I'd permanently disfigured him or something." Prussia smirked and leaned back in his seat, watching as England laughed.

Telling embarrassing stories about France had been an awesome plan, if he did say so himself.

"And then what?"

Prussia frowned, attempting to remember. "Then Tonio and I laughed at him and he got mad and stomped out." He shrugged. "Nothing much else…except that I remember he walked into a door when he tried to leave. Although that might have been Tonio." He shrugged. "We were all pretty sloshed by that point…"

England shook his head before pouring himself another glass of wine. "You three are idiots." There were a few moments of silence after that remark, as he swallowed most of the glass in one gulp. Then he set it down and leaned forward conspiratorially. "I'll tell you something, Gilbert. Something I've never told someone before, okay?"

"Hm?" Prussia glanced up from the meal that he was rather positive he hadn't ordered, but which tasted absolutely delicious. And rather familiar… "What?"

England leaned closer at the remark, his eyes shining in a mixture of amusement and intoxication. "Alfred, that idiot over there? Who's with that fucking frog?"

"Yeah?"

And then he grinned, his expression one that instantly reminded the Prussian of their younger days, when this 'gentleman' had been out pillaging the seven seas, defeating Spain's armada, and generally making a complete nuisance of himself. It instantly sparked his own familiar fire, his back straightening as he sat upright and leaned forward.

And then England laughed. "Simple. I'm completely and utterly in love with that idiot. And there's no fucking way I'm giving him up to that fucking frog."

Then he was back in his seat, Prussia's wine glass held between his fingers. He took a sip, vaguely watching the human occupants of another table argue with the waitress over their orders. Interestingly, she finally seemed to get frustrated, picked one of the plates up, and dumped the entire dish of pasta over the man's head before stomping back toward the kitchen.

Well, somebody was getting fired tonight.

Prussia, meanwhile, was trying to come to grips with what he'd just said. England…wasn't completely oblivious about his feelings toward America?

Wait a minute…

Did that mean he'd gotten dressed up like this for nothing? Fuck, France was going to pay for this.

"Well, then why don't you do something?" He leaned forward, trying to catch England's attention again. "Go over there and beat France to a pulp for trying to steal America from you." And in the meantime, get revenge on him for making me wear a suit and tie.

England snorted and took another sip of Prussia's wine. "I'm not going to go over there and strangle the idiot while I'm in the middle of a five-star restaurant. After I'm out of here, possibly."

Prussia wanted to whine at that… But he wanted to watch France get beat up…

"Well, then, if you're in love with him, then why don't you fucking invade his vital regions or something, Artie?"

England sighed. "Obviously, since he doesn't feel the same way, that isn't an option. And don't ask what liking me back has to do with anything, since I'm well aware that things don't work like that in your world."

Well, apparently, since his world was awesome and not sissy like England's…

And damn, this was good pasta.

There were another few moments of silence and then Prussia finally sighed. "You know, I don't think it's entirely impossible that your sissy little ex-colony could like you back. He keeps looking over here, after all."

England frowned, glancing in America's direction before his gaze returned to Prussia. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that I'm thinking that it might be possible that America is jealous."

"Of what?"

Okay, he was officially almost as clueless as Spain on a good day. "Of you! Or me…for being with you…"

England snorted, obviously not believing him. "Really…?"

"Hey, there's only one way to prove if I'm right or not." He reached into his back pocket, pulling out his (actually, Germany's, but close enough) wallet and flipping through it, before pulling out a wad of bills. "How about fifty euros says that I can get America to kiss you by the end of the date?"

England's eyes widened in surprise and he eyed the bills, obviously startled by the sudden remark. Then he suddenly smirked. "I'd think you would have learned your lesson about betting by now, Gilbert… Fine, you're on."

"After all," Prussia replied, grinning as he glanced over his shoulder toward France's table, "Either way, you win."

* * *

A/N: These guys really like to bet, eh?

Eh, other than that… Hopefully this chapter is okay, I've been sick like the past few days so I'm hoping my writing didn't suddenly die. Being sick in a foreign country is even worse than being sick at home, icky. :(

Thanks everyone for your advice regarding the next story. After thinking about it for a while, I decided that I'll finish Rivalry first while working on Tomatita as it comes to me… I'll also try to get at least the first 3 or so chapters of this other Spamano story written up but not posted. Then, once Rivalry is finished, I can start on the PruCan one while posting the Spamano one at a previously decided upon rate, at least until I finish Tomatita. That way I can keep the updates as frequent as possible ;D Since I'm already obsessive enough about updating that I already post faster than most people, according to some of you… Umm, hopefully that paragraph made sense xD


	17. Chapter 17

**Rivalry**

**Part 17**

Germany would much rather be home right now, eating some wurst or taking his dogs on a walk or organizing his bookshelves, or really doing anything rather than sitting here and watching his brother flirt with England.

It didn't help anything that he was absolutely starving and he was well-aware that he was not going to be getting anything from his 'waitress'.

Who—speaking of flirting—seemed to be spending a rather disproportional amount of time near Spain's table. Although that was probably a good thing, judging by the fact that Romano had already dumped a plate of pasta over someone's head when they complained that he'd given them the wrong order.

Anyway, so now he was sitting at his table, feeling incredibly hungry, and watching as America eyed his brother as if contemplating the best place to hide his body.

It was a common expression to have when dealing with his brother.

Still, he'd have to make sure that nobody actually died during this whole fiasco.

"Hey, everybody!" And suddenly said brother was on top of his table.

Germany sighed in exasperation. Great… He had no idea what his brother was planning, but he could already tell that this was going to be a disaster.

Maybe if he snuck out now, he could make it to the kitchen, drag Italy away from the stove, and make it home before anyone even noticed he'd disappeared?

It was a very tempting plan. The only problem was that he was pretty sure that if Italy was in the middle of cooking something, it would be impossible to pry him away except by brute force. And Germany hadn't yet gained the ability to refuse Italy of anything that he really wanted.

He should probably get started on learning how to do that.

Right after he finished building an inescapable room in his basement where he could keep his brother locked up for the rest of his existence.

~.~.~

England had not been expecting that. Yes, stupidity was unfortunately incredibly commonplace when you were with Prussia—particularly when you were with a Prussia who had been drinking alcohol for most of the past hour—but he still hadn't expected him to suddenly climb on top of the table as soon as he'd agreed to the stupid bet.

He couldn't help glancing over at America, who was now staring in Prussia in surprise, as was just about everyone else in the restaurant.

…There was no way he could love him back, right? The idea was absolutely absurd…

"Hey!" Prussia repeated, as if he hadn't already gotten everyone's attention by climbing on top of the table. "The awesome me has an announcement to make!"

The room was silent enough that you could have heard a cricket chirp if there happened to be any crickets around. Every eye was on the albino, most expressions either showing intense irritation or confusion.

"The awesomeness is here tonight with one of the few people in the world who is almost as awesome as himself." Prussia was definitely enjoying this. Having the attention of the entire restaurant on himself (where it should have been from the start) was a rather exhilarating feeling. So he played it up for all it was worth.

"Now, I know that everyone is going to be very upset by the announcement that I am about to make, but don't worry. The awesome me will still have enough awesome left over for everyone!" He paused, just in case anyone decided to applaud. They were too shocked by his awesomeness to do anything, though, so he just continued. "I have decided to ask this awesome person a very important question this evening!"

England felt his stomach drop into his boots as Prussia turned to him. He wasn't actually going to…

Mon dieu! France's eyes widened in shock at his friend's very familiar grin. This hadn't been part of the plan!

Germany's head fell against the table in an attempt at sending himself into unconsciousness.

America was already halfway to his feet. He had better not be about to—

Canada felt like he was going to cry. What was going on? Why was Gilbert doing this?

Spain was off in his own little world, as he'd finally managed to coax Romano into scooting into the booth beside him and now was attempting to kiss him senseless.

As far as Romano was concerned, the operation had been a complete success.

And Italy was off in the kitchen, happily teaching his pupils how to make the perfect tortellini, completely oblivious to anything that was happening in the other room. Actually, knowing Italy, he'd probably forgotten that there even was another room.

"Arthur Kirkland." And suddenly the idiot was on one knee…still on top of the table… "Will you marry me?"

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the shortness of the chapter, but I had to end it there…

xD xD xD

Oh, Gilbert.


	18. Chapter 18

**Rivalry**

**Part 18**

America had never really been the type to lose his temper at the drop of a dime. That was Romano. And England…and various other nations who really needed to take some anger-management classes.

Not him! The hero had complete control over his emotions at all times.

Except in certain situations, when his anger was justified. The sort of situations where even a saint would lose his temper.

This was one of those situations.

Prussia had just asked Iggy to marry him.

_Prussia _had just asked _Iggy _to _marry _him.

America was on his feet before he'd mentally decided to move, his legs seeming to have a mind of their own as they brought him to England and Prussia's table. Where Prussia was watching him. Smirking. As if he'd won…

And then his fingers were clenched around the albino's shirt collar, dragging him forward, knocking a few plates onto the floor. And he was still smirking, his red eyes narrowed in a taunting expression. 'Yeah, I just did that. What are _you _going to do about it?'

He had never felt this angry in his life…

Which is why he wasn't all that surprised when his hand suddenly burst forward, seemingly of its own will, and punched the Prussian right in that smirking expression.

"Alfred!" He could barely hear England's voice behind him as he drew his fist back for another blow. Prussia had barely reacted to the first; he was still smirking, even as blood dripped down from a cut on his lip. America could feel a vague pressure on his arm, trying to push it down so he couldn't hit him again. He just shook it off, following the first punch with another. And then another…

And then three more pairs of arms were around him, dragging him backwards.

"Amérique!"

"Alfred, stop!"

And that voice set him off again. He whirled around, barely able to see… He wasn't sure why… He wasn't crying, was he? Why would he be crying?

England was staring at him in horror, jerking backwards as he turned to stare at him, catching a glimpse of the fury in his expression. "Alfred, what are you doing? You can't just…"

"Why the fuck are you defending him?! What's wrong with you?!" Why was he so angry? Why did it matter that England and Prussia were dating? What was wrong with _him_?

France was standing on one side of him, Spain on the other, and Germany behind, all holding him back in case he attempted to return to attacking Prussia. Or decided to turn his fury on England. Although Germany released him once he felt America slowly begin to relax, instead turning to his brother, who was now holding his nose and wincing.

"Bruder, are you—"

Prussia ignored him, immediately jumping down from the table and walking down to stand beside England, wrapping one arm around his shoulders before flashing America another victorious, challenging smirk. "Hey, Al. What the hell is wrong with you? I just asked Iggy to marry me and now you're trying to punch my lights out? Like I said, just because I'm getting married doesn't mean that the awesomeness is going to come to an end. I have plenty to share…"

And Germany just managed to grab America's arm before he attempted again to murder his brother.

"Get your hands off of Iggy, you albino freak! He's mine!" And now he broke free, reaching forward to grab England's arm. England apparently too shocked by the sudden exclamation to even react as America dragged the relenting body into his arms. And then he pushed his chin up and pressed a fierce, dominating kiss against his lips.

Every single body in the room froze. Even the humans, who had been watching the entire fiasco in horror and confusion, all stared in silence as the American suddenly seemed to realize what he'd just done and jerked away, a flush colouring his cheeks.

"Ah, Igg—"

"Fuck yeah! I told you it'd work! You owe me now, Artie!"

And all eyes turned back to Prussia, who was now beaming in victory, while simultaneously rubbing at his bloody nose with a napkin he'd grabbed off a nearby table. At everyone's attention, he just smiled even more brightly and walked forward, patting America on the shoulder. "I knew that would work. You are way too easy to manipulate, Al."

There was another moment of silence, as America stared at Prussia in confusion. Before Spain grinned as well, turning toward France while glancing down at his watch. "I think you owe me too…"

"You fucking bastard!" Not that his victory lasted very long, as he was suddenly greeted by a fuming Italian in a skirt, who punched him in the stomach before stomping on his foot. "You fucking dropped me!"

Spain jumped back, wincing…as everyone else just stared at them in confusion. Besides England, who looked as if his brain had entirely shut down with the kiss and France, whose eyes were starting to widen in realization.

"Ah, Lovi…I had to go help make sure that Gil—"

"Lovino~" And suddenly France was at the Italian's side, one hand already half-up his skirt while the other ran through his wig. "What a surprise to see you here! And in such a delectable outfit…"

And then he was down.

A rather irritated, overprotective Spain sliding beside his lover, an arm slipping around Romano's waist as he glared down at his friend. "Sorry for that, Francis."

Romano blinked, a little surprised by the speed that the molester had been disposed of. Then he snorted irritably and kicked him as hard as he could in between the legs. "Pervert."

France whimpered and curled up into a ball.

"Wait…" a soft voice suddenly interrupted. Everyone turned, a few eyes sliding over the figure before settling on him when he spoke again. "Wait, so this whole thing was a trick…?"

Canada had made his way over and was now standing in front of the others, staring at Prussia with an expression that somehow managed to mix confusion, anger, betrayal, and a little bit of hope.

Prussia immediately straightened, dropping the bloody napkin onto the floor before walking to his friend's side. "Ah, yeah…You see…it was Francis's idea."

For a moment, Canada just stared at the Prussian. Then he forced a smile. "So, you and England weren't dating? You were just trying to make everybody think you were?"

"Huh?" England jerked out of his daze at this. "What? You told people that we were dating?"

"You weren't?" America questioned.

"Of course not!"

Prussia ignored them, more intent on the Canadian standing at his side. "We were trying to make Al jealous so that he'd finally admit that he was in love with Artie…"

"Hey, I never sai—" America started to argue, and then glanced down at England, who was staring up at him… And shut up…

"So…this entire time…you weren't actually dating England. You were just trying to trick us…" Canada blinked again, seemingly deep in thought. His fingers twitching as if he wanted to hug Kumajiro to his chest. Then he smiled slightly. "I understand…"

Prussia beamed, glad that Canada wasn't angry at him. "Yeah, it was all just to hel—"

And then a fist suddenly smashed into his face again.

This time coming from the usually timid Canadian. Who was still smiling, even as everyone else froze in shock and Prussia fell onto the floor, staring up at him in amazement.

"That's for making me worry." He remarked, still speaking in that very quiet, calm voice. Then he turned, heading out of the restaurant. Past tables of very surprised humans.

For a moment, Prussia remained on the floor, staring at the retreating Canadian in shock. And then he jumped to his feet. "Hey, wait, Mattie!"

"Bruder." And he was held back by a much stronger arm. "Let him go for now."

Prussia turned, glaring at his younger brother. Before his expression suddenly changed… "Hey, wait. What are you even doing here? And—" He turned toward Romano, who was still glaring down at the twitching France. "Why's Romano in a skirt?"

"PASTAAA~!"

And suddenly the door to the kitchen burst open, a very excited Italian running out with a huge pot—probably about half as he was—filled with pasta…

"Doitsu~! I made pasta for everyone!"

Germany often wondered if he happened to be the only sane person in this world.

* * *

A/N: Wow. Lots of stuff happened right there. *wipes sweat off forehead*

So we're getting close to the end here. I'm thinking that there might be either 2 or 3 more parts. (I'm leaning toward 3, since that'll mean 21 chapters…and that means that the length of these stories has increased by multiples of 7 each time, lol)

Holy snapdragon! 300+ reviews!! You guys are seriously amazing!! I'm sorry for not responding to everyone. The sheer amount of reviews doesn't allow me to answer everyone, but know that I absolutely LOVE you all!! And I read every review and message I get…multiple times… LOVE LOVE and Hearts!!


	19. Chapter 19

**Rivalry**

**Part 19**

America had never felt so confused in his life. Why had he done that? He hadn't been thinking. He'd just been angry…furious at Prussia. And he'd…he'd…

He'd kissed Iggy.

Who was standing beside him right now, watching as Germany attempted to explain why he was there with Romano and Veneciano—although he kept getting interrupted by Romano, so he wasn't getting very far—and Veneciano was hanging off of his arm and going on about pasta. Which probably wasn't helping either.

America couldn't help but watch him. Was he upset? He wasn't acting upset or anything… What was he supposed to do now? Why had he done that?

And suddenly England was looking up at him, possibly sensing that he was being stared at. America immediately looked away, a flush crossing over his face as he pretended to find the wall incredibly interesting. How in the world was he supposed to ever look at him again after that? He'd just _kissed _him.

"America?"

He winced slightly at the word, jerking slightly away from the other nation. "Uh, yeah." He turned slightly, more than ready to defend himself. Say it had just been an accident…

But England's expression immediately pushed all of those intentions away. He looked…hopeful…and happy. Happier than he'd seen him look in a long time.

And then suddenly he was being tugged away from the crowd of now arguing nations. As Romano was yelling at Germany about something that wasn't even close to the subject they'd initially started with. He reluctantly followed England, knowing that he probably didn't have too much choice in the matter. England's grip was tight enough that he might risk losing an arm if he tried to break away now.

They walked out of the restaurant without another glance back, England leading them down the street, still holding onto his wrist, until they'd reached a nearby park. Only a few people were out now due to the late hour, so they were mostly alone. He took a seat on a bench under a street lamp and then stared up at the younger nation expectantly.

"Why did yo—?"

"I can explain, Iggy!" America hurriedly interrupted him. Not that he had any idea how he'd explain it, but it sounded good to him.

Until England stood up again and stared up at him, his expression still curiously blank. America felt his heart race at the sudden close proximity and started to take a step backwards.

But was cut off when a pair of arms snaked around his neck and a pair of warm, slightly chapped lips pressed against his own. Effectively cutting off both his escape route and most of his mental processes.

England didn't allow him much time to react, as he drew his lips back after a few seconds, now just staring up at him with a slightly unfocused expression. "Alfred? What was that?"

Wasn't that what he was supposed to be asking? He wasn't the one who'd just kissed somebody out of the blue. "Uh, what?"

England continued to stare at him and then slowly brought his lips back against America's, deepening the kiss this time, although still remaining somewhat hesitant.

And now America's brain finally decided to kick in. He suddenly wrapped his arms around England's waist, pulling him against his chest in an almost violent motion, managing to somehow knock both of them off balance so they fell back onto the bench.

England yelped, attempting to jerk away from the other male. "Ow…what was that for?"

America completely ignored his question. As England was now sitting on his lap…and looked completely flustered… and…fuck.

"I—I don't—" His mind was threatening to short circuit… He was having one of those odd situations where he felt like he had a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other. Although in this case, both were saying the same thing 'Kiss him again!'

What was wrong with him? He—he didn't like England that way, did he? He—well, he had freaked out on Prussia because he was…was…he wasn't jealous, was he?

Okay, maybe he had been jealous. Although he couldn't understand why…

England was starting to get a little annoyed by America's lack of response. The idiot was just sitting there, not doing anything after pulling him over. He frowned slightly and then moved his hands to the younger nation's hairline, lightly brushing the pads of his fingers through the blonde strands for a moment, sensing America relax slightly at the gentle motion… And then he tugged. Hard.

"Ow!"

"What you said to Prussia. You said that I was 'yours'. What did you mean by that? Answer me."

"Eh—eh—" America blushed an even brighter shade of red and then hurriedly stated, "Eh, nothing! Just—I wanted Prussia to stay away from you. You—he's totally not right for you."

And now England smirked slightly, leaning closer so his lips almost brushed against America's ear. And people told him that he got flustered too easily. "Mm, he's not right for me? Then who _is _right for me?"

"Ah…" America hesitated for a long moment. Then mumbled, "Ah, someone more—more—not creepy and albino-like."

England had to hold himself back from smacking his former colony across the face.

"I think you'll need to be more specific than that. I mean, it's not everyday that I get a marriage proposal and I mean, Gilbert is relatively attractive…"

And suddenly he was getting crushed against America's chest again. Which was actually somewhat enjoyable, as he smelled rather pleasant. Like a mixture of leather and some sort of cologne—although just a bit of cologne, not enough to be obnoxious. Although there was also a slight overhanging scent of hamburgers, which he attempted to ignore.

"Iggy! You can't accept! You wouldn't, really? I mean, especially if you weren't really dating."

Hmm, France had been right for once. America was jealous. "I don't see why I shouldn't."

"Because you can't!" And now the grip was getting just a tad too tight. "You can't!"

"And why not?" Come on, just say it…

"Be—because…because I love you, Iggy!"

* * *

A/N: FINALLY!!!

Aiyah, that took him long enough.

Okay, and I've finally got a title (and plot) for the PruCan story. It'll be called "Changement" which is French for Change (shocker, right?) And that's all you get for now.


	20. Chapter 20

**Rivalry**

**Part 20**

For a moment, England was sure that he'd heard him wrong. America had just said that he _loved _him? Although he'd been sort of expecting the words and his stomach had been twisting with nervous, excited butterflies since he'd first noticed how badly America was blushing and stuttering, he still was shocked by the sudden declaration.

America, who was also standing there in silence, was also shocked by the words that had come out of his mouth. Wha—what? Where had that come from?

Although, now that he'd said it, he had to admit that the words had been true. He wasn't sure just when he'd started to fall in love with the older nation, but he'd been feeling like this for a while… And…now that he'd said it, he felt terrified of how England was going to react. He hadn't said anything yet; he was just standing there with a confused expression on his face.

For a few moments, they just stared at each other, England's cheeks starting to flush a bright red as America kept opening and closing his mouth, attempting to figure out what to say.

"I—I—"

England held up a finger, motioning for him to stay quiet. He didn't need the American to say something stupid and completely ruin the mood.

_Because I love you, Iggy._

He kept replaying that line through his head. _I love you. I love you._

"You aren't mad, are you, Iggy?" America suddenly questioned. England knew that he'd say something stupid. He glared at the younger nation, not missing the slight flinch that passed through America's eyes at the hard stare. "I—I mean…" He took a deep breath. "Aren't you going to say something?"

Bloody git. He was still trying to convert America's words into his long-term memory. "Shut up, git."

America scowled. "Come on, I just said that I love you. You can't just stay there ignoring me."

Stupid, bloody git. England turned, glaring at the American—who flinched slightly at the expression. "I would think it would be obvious by now that I love you too, you idiot."

Again, they just stood there staring at each other. Until America grinned. "Really? Really? Well, why didn't you say so earlier, Iggy?" And then he suddenly found himself pulled back up against America's body, his mouth covered by a pair of lips that were now more than ready to take dominance. England would have fought back, but he figured that America deserved the chance for once.

Besides, he was a bloody good kisser.

He leaned closer, not even noticing as America's fingers slowly began to inch down his back, tugging him farther into his lap, fingers playing with the hem of his shirt.

"Fifty bucks on Al topping the hell out of Artie!"

"Prusse!"

"Bruder!!"

England had about two seconds in which to turn the brightest red ever seen in human history before he fell into the dirt. America jerking to his feet, his face flushing red in a mixture of anger and embarrassment at the sudden exclamation. That Prussia was dead. He turned, catching the eyes of the crowd of voyeurs that had been attending to hide behind a nearby tree.

Or, France, Spain, and Prussia had been attempting to hide behind the tree. Germany was sitting on a bench a few feet away, pointedly pretending that he didn't know any of them. Italy sitting beside him, watching the scene with obvious fascination. As America started heading for them, he clapped his hands and called, "Yay! America and England finally admitted that they like each other!"

Romano, who was sitting on the other side of his brother, still wearing his uniform, and not looking happy about his proximity to the potato bastard, just snorted irritably. "Took you idiots long enough. Can we go home now so I can get out of this fucking outfit?"

Germany, who actually knew how to read the atmosphere, immediately stood, grabbing the younger Italian's hand and dragging him after him back toward the restaurant's parking lot. "Come on, Feli. Why don't you show me what you taught the humans to make once we get back home?"

Italy bounced ahead. "Ve~ okay, Doitsu!!"

Prussia and France had also immediately jumped up when they saw the steaming nation start heading toward them, France grabbing the oblivious Spain's hand, sending Romano to his feet in a rage. "Hey, hands off!"

"Hey, don't let me down, Al!" Prussia yelled back, as he ran past the bench where Romano was standing. "Oi, bruder! Don't forget the awesomeness!"

The other three followed, although France tossed a few suggestions over his shoulder that sent England's cheeks to an even more impressive shade of red. Which probably shouldn't have even been possible without breaking a few blood vessels. And Romano dragged Spain away from the other nation as soon as they got close to him, dragging him toward his car while throwing curses at each of the other nations in turn.

England just sat on the ground for a few moments more, trying to return his skin to a normal colour by thought alone.

Which wasn't helped along when America suddenly knelt down next to him, his face in surprisingly close proximity.

Damn it.

He'd have his revenge on Prussia later. "You know, it's kind of a shame that your date was ruined. You looked like you were having fun."

"Well, it's nice sometimes to go somewhere nice…"

America grinned, the smile disarming the older nation. "I think I saw a nice place a few streets down. I don't think that place is ever going to let any of us inside again, so how about we go there to finish our meals?"

England blinked in confusion, and then frowned. "Not McDonald's?"

"Not McDonald's." He now stood, offering his hand to the blonde. "What do you say?"

For a moment, England just stared at the offered hand. Then grinned slightly and took it, using it to propel himself up. "Fine, but you're paying for it, since you're technically the one who ruined this meal."

America beamed, flashing him a thumbs up. "Of course, Iggy, 'cause heroes always pay for their damsels in distress!" Then he jumped ahead before England had a chance to react to the new nickname. Once he was far enough away to have a decent head start, he turned. "Hey, by the way, Iggy, I was wondering. Where exactly is your tattoo?"

And he was rather grateful for that head start.

"WHO TOLD YOU ABOUT THAT?!?"

* * *

A/N: I seriously think that Gilbo might be suicidal. He'd better find somewhere good to hide, because America and England are going to hunt him down to the ends of the earth.

One more chapter. Wow…it's hard to believe I'm this close to being done. And then…PRUCAN!! :D Haha. All right, so next chapter will hopefully be out by Thursday *crosses fingers*. Since my mum is coming on Thursday to stay with me during my spring break and I doubt I'll be getting much writing done then, unless I decide to take my laptop with me for the ride up to Scotland. So yes…

I think the next chapter may be a Spamano omake, although I'm not sure yet ;D


	21. Omake

A/N: So after thinking about it and writing a few different scenes out, I decided to go through with the Spamano omake (sorry for those who didn't want it) since it just worked out better that way with what I want to do with Changement. So, USUK is over for now, but there will definitely be fluffy adorableness in the next one if you continue, so don't be sad :) For those who like Spamano, here you go. Hope you enjoy.

* * *

**Rivalry**

**Omake**

Spain was quite positive that he'd never in his life wanted to get home as quickly as he did right now. Actually, he was starting to consider just giving up the whole idea of making it all the way home and just find some hotel somewhere. Or—to take even less time—they could just pull over to the side of the road right now.

"Fucking French bastard. Fucking potato bastard. Stupid Feli. I can't believe I even agreed to this." Romano was currently staring out of the window, chin resting in his palm as he watched the street lights pass by. Spain was finding it hard to keep his eyes on the road… "They're all idiots. I'm surrounded by complete idiots. Including you." Now he looked over and Spain hurriedly pretended to have been focused on the road this entire time.

Romano continued to complain, apparently not caring that Spain wasn't answering. "And I'm dressed like a girl, damn it. What was the point in dressing me like a girl? I swear, I sometimes wonder about my brother."

So his brother was the one who'd dressed him like that? Spain made a mental note to thank him later.

"Are you even listening to me, asshole?" Spain jumped slightly at the sudden exclamation, although thankfully not enough to send the car off its course.

"Of course, Lovi."

Romano glared at him suspiciously, but then continued on his rant, Spain now completely ignoring the actual words in favour of just watching him. How he kept nervously playing with his skirt and how he'd sometimes play with his now-longer hair…

Yes, there was no way that he was making it home. A hotel it was, then, since he was pretty sure that Romano would murder him if he attempted anything in a car.

Although, really, Romano had to know what he was doing. He wasn't some blushing virgin by any means, so he had to know that every movement he made was driving Spain crazy. Particularly when he kept crossing and uncrossing his legs, making the skirt ride higher and higher…and…

"And your pervert friend kept trying to hit on me, bastard." Romano was still going strong, apparently not even noticing that they'd taken a slight detour until they passed a couple signs that quite plainly read that the town they should be driving toward lay in the opposite direction.

Or he was for a few minutes. After a short amount of time, Spain could tell that he'd noticed—maybe he really was clueless about all of this. He had just had a pretty long, rough day—when he sat up a little straighter and suddenly seemed to be paying more attention to the street signs. Then he turned toward Spain, frowning slightly. "Where do you think you're going, idiot? The hotel's in the opposite direction."

"It's far away, though, Lovi. I'm too tired to drive all the way there. We can just spend the night in some other hotel and then get our stuff tomorrow morning."

For a few minutes, Romano just stared at him. Yes, he was definitely tired. If he hadn't figured out what he meant yet. And then comprehension crossed over his face and he immediately glared at his partner before crossing his legs again and flashing him his best 'don't even think about it or I'll kill you by strangling you with your own entrails'. "Oh no. There is no way."

"But, Lovi~"

"No. Absolutely not. I had to fucking dress up like a girl. I got hit on by France _twice_. I had to be _nice _to that potato bastard. _And _you dropped me! There is no way that I'm going along with anything that you say. Now take us back to our hotel." And he crossed his arms over his chest in a way that quite plainly read that that was final.

Spain sighed, not for the first time wondering why in the world he had to be so madly in love with someone who was practically the definition of the word 'difficult'. Just like France was the definition of the word 'pervert' and Prussia was convinced that he was the definition of the word 'awesome'.

And he was going to be murdered for this later, but at the moment, he didn't really care. "Lovi~ are you sure you don't want to go to one of these hotels?"

"Yes, I'm positive, bastard. How many times do I have to say it?"

Spain hesitated for another moment. He didn't really want to deal with Romano being angry with him later, but then again, it was his own fault for being so attractive. "All right, Lovi." He took the next turn, heading away from the main road onto a more secluded road.

Romano was a little surprised that Spain had given in so easily. He'd been expecting more whining and begging and maybe a couple more kisses. And—probably not, but there was always the possibility, although probably not, since he was still irritated at him—that he might have given in after a while. The way that Spain had been kissing him in the restaurant had given him the idea that Spain was determined.

He self-consciously shifted in his seat, now eyeing the other nation nervously. What the hell was wrong? Did he not want to anymore or something? Although why would he offer, then?

Spain, on the other hand, was too distracted by his own thoughts to notice Romano's nervous looks. This road was secluded, but…Ah, there. A little dirt road leading off into a forested area. Perfect. He carefully turned into it, drawing just out of sight of the road before slowing to a stop.

"Where are we, bas—?" And he hurriedly cut off the question.

Because he absolutely loved Romano's voice, but he could think of better things for those lips to be doing than cursing him out for ignoring his order.

Once his brain managed to catch up to these sudden events, Romano mentally relaxed. He knew that Spain wasn't about to give up that easily. So he wasn't really surprised by the direction things had gone. He'd been waiting for it, really. What he was surprised by was his reaction.

As he had climbed right up onto Spain's lap—which happened to be incredibly uncomfortable with the steering wheel digging into his back—without another thought, tugging the other male's head forward so he could deepen the kiss from a better angle.

Spain was also surprised, rather pleasantly. He immediately slipped his hand over to the seat's lever, pushing it so the seat would recline. Although he did it just a little too fast so they fell back much quicker than he'd anticipated.

It disoriented him more than it did Romano, who just made an irritated noise in the back of his throat and moved so he was lying against his chest, now kissing his throat.

"You do realize you're completely contradicting what you just said," Spain finally remarked, as he slid his fingers along his lover's back. "Not that I'm complaining."

"You're an idiotic bastard."

He'd expected that. Romano wouldn't be Romano if he didn't insult him every few minutes. He just grinned back, fingers twisting the wig's curls in tight coils before he finally tugged it away from his head, the other hand finding where Romano had slicked back his curl. "This must be uncomfortable."

Romano made a rather interesting sound in the back of his throat at that and Spain would have laughed if it weren't for the fact that Romano suddenly decided to retaliate on what was nearest to him the moment. Which would be his throat. Which he bit. Hard.

"Ow!" Spain yelped, pulling his fingers back, leaving the curl free to spring back into its usual place like some sort of being with a mind of its own. Which it might be for all they knew.

Romano flashed him his usual, should-be-patented, annoyed glare. "I've told you not to touch that."

And people said that girls were the masters of the mixed message. They'd apparently never met Romano. "Lovi~ that hurt."

"Good, bastard."

Spain pouted. "Sometimes you can be so uncute."

Romano just glared back in response and then moved their lips back together in another highly contradictory motion.

See, mixed message master. Girls could take lessons from Lovi.

"This would be more comfortable in the backseat," Spain remarked after a few moments of just enjoying the fact that Romano was actually initiating something for once.

"Pervert," he replied, although it seemed to be more out of habit than anything else, as he actually obeyed. Climbing over the headrest and into the backseat. Spain followed after a moment of surprise that he hadn't argued more.

After a few moments of maneuvering around in an attempt to get comfortable in the small space, Spain remarked with a grin, "You make a very pretty girl. Much prettier than any real girl."

"Shut up, bastard."

"Although you were saying earlier that you wanted to get out of that outfit, right?"

Romano flashed him a quick look, a quick 'you're such a damn pervert' look, before he nodded once, his fingers moving to the buttons of his shirt. "Yeah, I guess…This isn't the most comfortable thing to be wearing." And he slowly began to unbutton the first few, drawing the fabric aside in a 'too innocent to actually be innocent' motion. Which was only emphasized as he stared up at the entranced Spain with a definite smirk.

Damn, Lovi was so hot…

Spain was about to react… In what way, he wasn't really sure. Possibly by kissing the daylights out of him…or just by helping those fingers to hurry it up…or he could distract him by pulling on his curl until he started screaming…

Unfortunately, he was stopped in the middle of that train of thought.

By possibly the most annoying sound in the world.

Coming from his back pocket.

"Shit."

"What the fuck is wrong with your fucking boss? Does he have some fucking sensor built into his fucking brain?" Romano hissed in fury after he'd jumped at the startling sound.

Spain was starting to think the same thing, although in a less obscenity-strewn way. How was it possible for someone to have such obnoxious timing? He slowly leaned back, sliding the vibrating phone from his back pocket and then flipping it open after flashing it a glare that, while lacking the practiced ease of Romano's glares, still managed to express utter irritation and hatred. Although he did manage to keep his voice from expressing his frustration. "Hola?"

"España, where are you? I haven't been able to get a hold of you for the past three days! Where in the world have you been?"

"Ah, lo siento." Romano looked as if he was about to kill something. Hopefully not him. "Is it okay if I call you back later, por favor? I was in the middle of something…"

"Fucking give me that fucking phone!"

Spain could hear the horror immediately tinge his boss's voice at the furious voice. "Ah…is that Italia?"

"Uh, sí…"

Spain was pretty sure that he'd never been hung up on so quickly in his life.

Didn't stop Romano from grabbing the phone from him and screaming into it for a few seconds, completely ignoring the fact that nobody was on the other side. Then he moved his arm, pressing on the handle of the door until it opened a few inches. And—before Spain could even figure out he was doing—he'd chucked the phone outside.

"Ah, Lovi!! I need that!!"

"Get a new one, bastard," he responded, slamming the door closed before turning back to Spain and wrapping his arms around his neck. "And from now on, you're keeping it on silent."

Well, that was the last time he was ever getting a call from his boss…

**OWARI**

* * *

A/N: And there's where we end. So I think Prussia and poor Spain's boss should join a club. The Cockblocking Club. Although Prussia does it on purpose and Spain's boss just has horrible, horrible timing…

And I'll leave what happens next to your imagination ;D

Oh gosh, so thank you all so much for reading this! I am absolutely floored by the amount of views and reviews (400+!!!) and and…AHH!! Words cannot express how incredible I think you all are!! Amazing, wonderful. Hearts and love!!


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